


voicemail

by a_calipygian



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Background Gavin/RK900, Background Markus/Simon, Blood and Gore, Brutal Murder, Character Death, Drink Spiking, Fluff, Human Experimentation, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Serial Killers, Sex, Smut, android experimentation, horny boys, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 89,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_calipygian/pseuds/a_calipygian
Summary: There's a serial killer loose on the streets of Detroit, endangering the lives of humans and androids alike. With time already running out, Connor needs all his focus on the case, but unspoken words between him and his partner are making that infuriatingly difficult.





	1. Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is just a brief introductory chapter to what's happening in our boys' life's right now. The good stuff will start in chapter two, but for now, please enjoy! Muchas love~

Connor thinks about it most days.

He wonders if Hank does too; he wonders if Hank even knows about it. It's never been mentioned before, and anytime they come close to talking about it, the subject is always changed. Sometimes by Hank, and sometimes by Connor.

There are unspoken words between them that need to be said, and perhaps they're better off for it, but Connor needs to know why they've never talked about what happened. What happened before Connor infiltrated Cyberlife.

Connor sits at his desk at the DPD with his eyes closed. His fingers are on the keyboard but they're unmoving. He doesn't know what he looks like right now, but he'll bet he looks harder at work than Gavin ever does.

He can still access his Graphic Interface, strangely. Once the Android revolution was over ( _in Detroit, that is_ ) and Cyberlife was temporarily shut down, the business was forced to relinquish control of all androids in its system to allow them their rights of free will they had been granted. However, since Connor was a prototype and had individualistic functions, it had only removed the program controlling Amanda's AI and left the Zen Garden untouched.

Connor was very appreciative of this; despite the bad memories it brought to him. After all, it was a very peaceful place, and Connor liked having somewhere to go if he needed to think - and right now, he needed to think.

There was a lot of new things that Connor had experienced since becoming a deviant, or alive as they now say, and sometimes he didn't quite understand it all. Emotions, for example, were sometimes very tricky. There was happiness, and anger, and sadness, and sometimes there was all three combined. Then the emotions that he had only experienced recently; jealousy, fear... and this strange one that he hadn't found a name for yet. It was an odd feeling that lay somewhere near happy, but also made him feel sick and miserable at the same time, and it seemed to always have one centre point.

Hank.

It had been little things at first; Hank buying him a coffee on the way to work, even though he knows he can't drink it. If his smile lingered on him longer than it used to. When Hank defended him when Gavin sometimes took things a little too far with his bullying. If he laughed at Connor's jokes. Then it started happening more often, and soon enough he was feeling this way every single time he saw Hank. It was getting rather exhausting actually; this constant feeling in his stomach like he'd swallowed a hundred butterflies.

He's been feeling it for so long now that it should be second nature; it had been three months for Pete's sake.

Three months exactly to this day, as a matter of fact. Three months since Markus sang in front of the nation; three months since Connor marched on Detroit with an army of androids at his back; three months since Hank had hugged Connor.

The hug had been quite surprising actually, the way Hank's hand had gripped Connor's shoulder and pulled him into his arms. When he'd first walked over, Connor had been sure he was going to slap him or shove him or... something more Hank-like, but instead, he'd hugged him tight with the biggest smile he'd ever seen on his face.

It had been nice, to come back from something so terrifying to something so familiar. Not that hugging Hank was familiar, but Hank was. His scent was.  
Connor wondered if he knew then.

He was sure it had felt that way, from the way he'd pulled him into that embrace with such strength and the relief in his voice when he'd spoke to him. Yet he'd said nothing about it, and still hasn't to this day.

Connor had only done it because he thought he was going to die. He'd told Markus that unlikely events could always happen, but even he'd known at the time that a one-man mission infiltrating the largest company in the world was suicide. He'd seen no other outcome than his death, but at least it might have secured the freedom for more androids.

He remembers how scared he'd been in the taxi on the way there. Sure, he'd experienced fear before then, but the emotion had become so much heavier when he'd allowed himself to become Deviant. It had been amplified and it had made him sick, knowing there was no way back, knowing he was going to die. Knowing he'd never see Hank again.

That had been the scariest thought. Because who would check on him now? Hank, with his crippling depression and bad tendency to get out his drink and gun and play silly games, would be alone again with no one to make sure he was okay. Because that was Connor's job. Not just as his partner, but as his friend, and without him there would be no one. And he would never know why. Androids were being slaughtered on every street corner, no one would call up the Lieutenant to tell him his android had been shot because by that point it was supposed to be happening.

Connor had no way of knowing that he would see Hank at Cyberlife; no way of knowing that Hank had been taken hostage prior to him even leaving Jericho. So these thoughts lingered and one, in particular, screamed at him.

Connor was going to die and Hank would never know what happened to him.

And that's the thought that made Connor do what he did, and he remembered it clear as day.

With tears forming in his nasolacrimal ducts, he'd frantically gone through the contacts in his databases and found Hank's number. His LED flashed yellow as he pressed call and the dialling tone sounded in his mind, lasting for what seemed to be an eternity in the silence of the vehicle. Connor's fingers tapped anxiously on the dashboard of the taxi as he listened and waited.

_Pick up, pick up, pick up._

A frantic beeping, “ _Hi, this is Hank_.” A gruff voice sounds and Connor's shoulders slump in relief as he goes to speak.

“ _Not here at the moment_.”The voice adds, and Connor realises it's Hank's voicemail talking to him. He should have known, he's heard it enough times in the past to know by now. Still, it's good to hear his voice.

“ _You can leave a message if that's what turns you on, but don't expect me to call back. Beep. Whatever.”_  Connor smiles at the familiarity of it because it's what he's used to. But, God, just this one time he could have just picked up the bloody phone.

The beep sounds and Connor blinks rapidly, not knowing what to do. He feels like he should hang up because he doesn't know what to say and Hank isn't on the other line to act as a filter for him, but this could be his last chance to say something to Hank. He can't pass up the opportunity. Besides, if he says something he'll regret, he won't have to regret it for much longer.

He takes a deep breath that he doesn't need, and opens his mouth, “ _Hey, Hank_.”

“Connor!” The gruff voice sounds and echoes through the Zen Garden, and Connor is suddenly pulled back to reality as he can feel his body being disturbed.

Brown eyes open to see his body being shaken by a rough hand, and the Lieutenant stands over him with a worried expression that looked out of place on his features. The shaking stops once Connor opens his eyes, and he's looking up at him now and flashing a reassuring smile.

“Apologies, Lieutenant. Did you need something?” He asks, trying to adjust himself to the situation. He wasn't used to being pulled out of his head like that.

“No, just Fowler's comin’ round and he'll be on your case if he thinks yer sleepin' on the job.” Hank warned, moving back to his desk opposite him, a new box of O'Mansley doughnuts in his hand to replace the one he'd just finished. Connor smiles his gratitude, before turning back to the computer screen to pull up something that would make him look as if he were working.

Hank was still watching him, “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Not at all, why do you ask?”

“You only zone out like that when you’re really stuck on something.” Hank smiles knowingly, bringing his coffee to his lips. “C’mon, kid, what is it? I might be able to help.”

“It really isn't important, Lieutenant,” Connor insists, and it's hard to say because it _is_ important to him, “I'm just focused on my work.”

Hank doesn't buy it for one minute, but he won't push him, and Connor knows that, “Alright if you say so.” He yields, opening up the box of O'Mansley's and taking out his favourite first as he always does. Cinnamon sugar. Obviously.

Connor had once learnt how to make a healthier version of that particular delicacy to substitute for the calorific treats, but Hank complained that it wasn't good if it couldn't give you a heart attack. That had been the first time he'd rolled his eyes at Hank.

The rest of the day goes by slowly because Connor isn't focused on the cases in front of him and all he can think about is that stupid voicemail. He doesn't know why it's on his mind so much today; perhaps it's because it's been exactly three months and Connor still hasn't got a hold of his sentimental emotions yet. He should really pull himself together.

His chin is rested in his palm with his elbow on the desk, and he's staring at Hank but he doesn't realise it. It's half because his eyes are in a comfortable position, and half because something looks different about Hank today, but he can't place his finger on what. Something about him looks... tidier, but his appearance seems exactly the same. Connor likes Hank's rugged appearance, and he likes that he doesn't give two shits what people think about him, but even still he'd like to see some order in Hank's life. Some sign to show he still cared about himself, because then maybe Connor wouldn't have to worry so much.

“Connor, you've been starin' at me for ten minutes.” Hank's voice suddenly says, and Connor realises what he's doing and pulls himself out of his head again. That keeps happening today. Hank's looking at him for an explanation.

“...You've changed something and I can't put my finger on what it is.” Connor's eyes continue to dart around his face, and there is truth to his words because it was one of the things he was thinking about.

Hank looks surprised at Connor's observation, and clears his throat, “I, er... trimmed my beard.”

Connor's eyes flick down to the grey facial hair and he sees it, and it is significantly shorter and tidier. He's glad there's still a lot of it there; he likes Hank's beard, but he also likes how it looks now. Suddenly he can't help but wonder what he'd look like with his hair tied up.

“I like it.” Connor states after a pause and offers him a genuine smile. Hank's relieved to see a smile on his face because he's looked out of sorts all day; he's glad he chose today to do it.

“It's just a trim, Con, no need to be so dramatic.” Hank looks back to his computer again, the corner of his mouth is turned up into a smirk, and when he glances over again he notices that Connor is smirking too.

The end of the day finally comes, and Hank's grabbing his keys and pulling his coat over his shoulders. He hands Connor his coat over the desk, which he takes with a grateful nod. Hank had taken Connor shopping when he got his first official paycheck, and he'd been more excited than Hank had ever seen him. Connor had worn human clothes before, he'd borrowed a complete outfit from Hank when infiltrating Jericho because he needed to blend in, but he prefers to look more stylish and kept than Hank's clothes do justice for.

All he'd insisted on getting were suits and ties and anything that looked far too grand for a police station, but they did look good on him.  
Hank regarded him from the other end of the desk; right now he was sporting a white shirt, black tie and black pants. It was simple but Connor still made it look good, and it wasn't anything that would slow him down should they need to go out on a case. He'd also decided he liked big, warm coats, particularly trench coats, and scarves. Hank couldn't place his finger on why, because Connor could control his body temperature and didn't need warm things to be warm, but he left him to it.

Connor buttoned up his black trench and wrapped his favourite scarf around his neck, and Hank felt his eyes roll. He'd once remarked that he looked like that cheekbone actor who played Sherlock once when he dressed like that, and when Connor had no idea what he was talking about, they'd sat down and watched the entire box set.

After that night, Connor had found his fashion icon.

Hank had smacked him around the head when he'd asked if John Watson was his.

“You ready?” Hank asked when Connor had finally put all his layers on to perfection.

“Ready.” He nodded once again, as quiet as he had been all day, and followed Hank as they headed out of the station.

Hank pulled himself into the driver's seat with a grunt as Connor settled into the passenger side, pulling his seatbelt around his middle and then complaining when Hank started to reverse without even putting his on. Hank rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time today as he pulled it on with a click and drove out of the car park.

Connor's head stayed on the window for most of the car journey, quiet as a mouse, and Hank didn't dare turn on the radio in worry of disturbing him. And it was worrying because by now Connor's usually off talking about whatever case files he's read or what movie he wants to watch tonight. He couldn't believe he was saying this, but he missed his rambling.

Hank was so used to giving Connor a lift by now, he did it every day, it seemed ideal since they always went back to his house anyway. Connor had his own place now, a little apartment in the city that Hank hated because it was on the top floor of the complex, but he hardly spent any time there. Hank had offered that Connor just come and live with him, but he'd gone on about it being too much of an inconvenience and how he would only take up space. Despite this Connor still comes around every night and sits and talks and watches television with Hank and Sumo until he falls asleep on the couch.

Hank pretends not to know that his sleep mode is voluntary.

By this point, he's even picked out some old clothes of his for Connor to sleep in. He has pillows and blankets under the couch to give to him in the night. He even gave him a key for fuck's sake, ( _partially so he doesn't break any more goddamn windows_ ). And he likes it. He enjoys the extra company around the house, despite the 6am alarm calls that Connor never misses, and he thinks that Connor does too.

He isn't as insecure as Hank, but he does know they only really have each other.

The silence is eventually too loud, and Hank has to say something, “Diddya take a look at that case file about the body that washed up on Belle Isle? Gavin was assigned it, but he ain’t found anything, obviously. Think Fowler wants us to look into it.”

Connor nodded.

“He thinks it's related to that unsolved homicide we worked on at that farm, remember that?”

How could Connor forget? It had been one of the most brutal sights he'd ever witnessed. The body of one Graham Nolan had been abandoned in an out-of-use farm, his head caved in and his chest carved open and his heart replaced by an Android Thirium pump. It had been an awful sight to see, and they'd been left with no leads or indication to who the killer could be. If this new case could provide them with some clue as to who the killer was, it would be extremely beneficial. Even still, Connor simply nodded again.

Hank was getting exasperated, “What do you think? You usually already have a conclusion.”

“It should be interesting, Lieutenant.” Connor mumbled with monotonous apathy. Hank could hear himself growling.

“Connor, what the fuck is wrong?” He finally snapped, unable to handle this silent treatment any longer. It was driving him up the wall. “You've been actin’ off all day. Has something happened?”

“No.”

“Is it Reed? Has he said something to you?”

“No, Lieutenant.”

“Then what is it?” Hank asked, trying to remind himself to focus on the road instead of looking at Connor. They'd bloody crash at this rate.

Connor stayed silent for a long time, but Hank could see the yellow in his LED and knew he was trying to think of what to say. He watched him mess with a loose thread in his scarf absently.

“I'm not really sure, Lieutenant. I just feel... off today.”

“Are you sick?” Hank could hear the sudden concern in his voice and scolded himself for it. Connor shook his head once.

“No, it's not that. All my systems are fully operational.” He noted, with a confidence that let Hank know he was telling the truth.

They were outside of his house now, and Hank was glad because he'd nearly crashed the car about ten times in the last three minutes. The sound of the engine sputtering and dying sounds as Hank takes the keys out, but he doesn't make a move to leave the car, and Connor doesn't either.

“Listen, Connor,” Hank sighs as he turns to face him in the seat, “I know you're still new to a lot of things, and I promised I'd give you advice whenever you needed it. But I can't help you if you don't help me understand what it is you're feelin’.”

Connor took a breath of air that was slightly hitched, and Hank wondered if he knew he'd done it.

“I think this is something I need to figure out on my own.” Connor turned to look up at him with pleading brown eyes that made Hank want to crush whatever it was that was making him feel this way. “Is that alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank's eyes lingered on him for a moment, but he smiled and nodded, “Shit, yeah, of course.” He agreed reluctantly. He was still worried, but he understood. Hank had been through this many times; when you're faced with a new emotion and a new feeling that you can't explain, it can leave you stuck in an endless cycle of thought and it can be maddening. He'd experienced it, and he knew of hard it was, so of course, it was fine.

“I'll talk to you when I'm ready, but I'm not sure when that will be.”

“You take all the time you need, Connor, alright?” Hank reached out a hand and rubbed Connor's arm instinctively, and he smiled a little brighter as he nodded. “C’mon then, let's get a drink. I'm bloody parched.”

Hank locked the car and fumbled through his keys until he found the right one for the door, making a mental note to himself to get separate keychains for his house and work. Before the door was even unlocked he could hear Sumo's panting from within, and when it finally swung open the big Saint Bernard was jumping up on him and pawing at his chest.

“Argh, come on, boy, give me chance to get in first.” Hank grumbled as he pressed himself against the wall to get around the dog, already in the process of throwing his jacket over the couch and heading to the kitchen for a drink. Sumo moved his attention to Connor instead as he came to the door, and Connor was at his knees within seconds giving the dog all the attention in the world and fussing over him.

Hank noted the smile on his face. It always seemed that no matter what Connor was going through, all he ever needed was a dog to lift his spirits again.

When Hank moved back to the living room space Connor was just getting back up and taking off his coat and scarf. Hank came over and held a hand out towards him, much to Connor's confusion.

“Here, I'll take 'em. There are clothes you can wear on the side there, you just go and change.”

Connor hesitated, but a small and bashful smile crept onto his face and he handed over his things with a nod of gratitude, grabbing the clothes Hank had pointed to on the side and disappearing into the bathroom.

By the time he came out again, Hank had changed into a t-shirt and some shorts, had ordered a pizza, and was now flicking through the films that were on offer for the night. Connor came into the living room in sweatpants and one of Hank's large hoodies from Detroit Police Academy; it completely drowned him but he loved it, that's why Hank always gave it to him.

He slumped down beside Hank on the couch and within seconds Sumo was jumping up and squeezing into the space between them, his butt on Hank's lap and his head on Connor's.

“Charming.” Hank mumbled, which earnt a small laugh from Connor that Hank had never been happier to hear. He looked a lot more relaxed now, Hank notes, but there's still that tiredness pressing against his eyes that an android shouldn't have and his yellow LED that signals his mind is still preoccupied.

“You feelin' any better?” He decides to ask, he didn't want to push but he wanted to make sure Connor could get through whatever this was with comfort and ease.

The look on Connor's face when his head turns to him is sincere, and his smile is genuine, “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.” He looks back down to Sumo again, scratching behind the dog's ears as Hank smiles and looks back to the TV.

He likes that Connor still calls him Lieutenant outside of work. He'd told him countless times in the past that he could just call him Hank, but he never listened. It wasn't a bad thing, it actually made him feel quite respected, but sometimes it made him feel as if Connor really did just see him as his superior and not as a friend. Though surely that couldn't be the case, Connor had even said himself in the past that-

He mentally slaps himself; it wasn't the time to be thinking about that.

Within the next half an hour the doorbell was ringing. Connor was completely curled up into the couch and engrossed in the horror film they had eventually settled on, and Hank was standing to answer the door. He paid the delivery man and came back to the couch with his pizza box, sitting down happily and opening it up to reveal a sizzling meat feast pizza.

Connor's eyes flicked away from the television momentarily to scan the food, and visibly winced when '3,000 calories' appeared next to the box. He opted on not saying anything though, he'd noticed Hank hadn't eaten much the previous day and they wouldn't have time for breakfast or dinner tomorrow. He could use up the extra calories if he wanted.

“Didn't you get me anything?” Connor teased, that shit-eating smirk on his face that Hank simultaneously loved and hated. He heard Hank growl lowly from behind his whiskey glass.

“There's some batteries in the cupboard if yer' desperate.” He grumbled, and Connor smiled behind his hand before his gaze moved back to the television.

It was an odd film. Hank had called it Silence of the Lambs, but Connor hadn't seen any sheep so far yet. Though it was rather good. Hank had been insisting recently that Connor needed to watch some 'classic films', mostly because he never understood any of the references Hank made. They'd reached number fifteen on the list so far.

“This man,” Connor mused out loud as the film's apparent main antagonist came onto the screen, “is he based on a real person?”

“What, Hannibal?” Hank mumbles with a mouth full of pizza, shrugging his shoulders. “I wouldn't be surprised. There's been some proper fucked up shit like this before.”

“Will we ever have to deal with something like this?”

Hank hesitated, “I hope not. I'd tell you Detroit is too quiet of a place, but... I guess it isn't anymore.” He looked to Connor again whose brow was now furrowed with concern. “Why? What're you worried about?”

“I just wouldn't want you looking into something like that. It'd be dangerous.”

“That's kinda my job, Con,” Hank frowned, wondering why he was suddenly so conflicted about this, “you don't think I could handle it?”

“No, you could, without a doubt.” He nodded, his eyes only just leaving the television to look at him. “But you could still get hurt. You could get hurt badly and... and you could _die_.”

“Alright, easy there, kid,” Hank abandoned his pizza for the moment, realising he needed some reassurance. “You're worryin’ about something that could never happen. I know I said Detroit isn't quiet anymore, but that doesn't mean some psycho is gonna go on a cannibalistic, killing spree.”

“It doesn't have to be someone like him,” Connor whispered, his voice so quiet that Hank wondered if he'd even spoken, “what if... we could go on this case tomorrow, we could get a lead and find the killer. They could _hurt_ you when we find them and then...”

Connor's hands were suddenly at his head rubbing at his temples, and the motion reminded Hank of what he looked like with a hangover. The remote was in his hands in seconds and the film was paused, and Hank's hand was on Connor's shoulder.

“You're just overthinkin’ things, nothin’ like that is gonna happen.” He sighs heavily, not liking to see him this way. His hands moved to join Connor's at his forehead and felt burning heat when he did. “Jeez, you weren't kidding when you said you were off, were'ya? You feel like you're running a fever.”

“I think my mind's just... working overtime.” Connor mumbled tiredly, dropping his hands and allowing himself to lean into Hank's palm without thinking about it. The touch was comforting and that was all he needed right now. Hank felt an overwhelming urge to pull away and leave the room when he did, but he kept himself put and didn't let it show on his face.

“You're bloody expensive; try not to burn up your software.” Hank teased lightly, hoping it would lighten Connor's mood, and he felt relieved when he saw a smile on his face. Though he knew he still needed some reassurance. “Look, I dunno why you're so worried, but I'm gonna be fine, and so are you. I know you've got my back and I've got yours, alright?”

Connor nodded up at him, his smile still prominent, “Alright.”

Hank let his hand drop with a sigh, reaching for the remote and passing it to him, “Here, I'm gonna hit the sack. Try and lay off the horror films.”

“I can go home if it's easier for you, Lieutenant?”

“In the state you're in? Don't be fuckin' ridiculous.” Hank huffed, standing up from the couch and folding down the pizza box. He'd eat the rest tomorrow; cold pizza was better anyway.

Hank ambled over to the kitchen and shoved the pizza in the fridge, filled up Sumo's bowl and grabbed another glass of whiskey. He found the pillows and blankets and threw them over to Connor before he pointed a finger at him.

“If you need anythin' or you start overheating again, wake me.” He ordered, and Connor looked up at him over the back of the couch and nodded. Hank took this as his goodnight and turned to leave, but the sound of scrambling made him stop.

“Wait, Lieutenant,” Connor said quickly, and Hank turned again to see him leaning up on his knees to face him, “I know I’ve been difficult today, and I’m sorry about that. I’m just frustrated and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. So.. thank you for putting up with me. I appreciate everything you've done to help me; you're a good person and I-” His words cut off as the memory of saying them before hit him like a truck, and for a split second he swore he could see the same emotion on Hank's face.

“Just... thank you.” He rambled quickly, feeling that same heat from earlier on his cheeks now. “Goodnight.”

“Er, yeah, night Connor.” Hank grumbled back, not wanting to address anything else he'd said. He hit the light switch on the way to his room, knowing Connor could see in the dark anyway, and shut himself in his bedroom quickly.

Connor let out a groan, finding the pillow Hank had thrown to him and buried his face in it. He felt Sumo licking his ear in concern but he didn't even remotely care right now. This was a mess, and he'd made it a mess, and now he didn't know how to get out of it.

Eventually, he managed to bring himself out of his shameful position and spread himself out on the couch beside Sumo, switching off the television as he did. He wasn't in the mood for films anymore; he just wanted to go into sleep mode and try to forget about this whole day.

So that's what he did; except he knew sure as Hell he'd remember it all tomorrow.

Meanwhile, in his bedroom, Hank sat on the edge of his bed staring down at the phone in his hand, a pair of earphones connecting him to his phone. He scrolled through the short list of saved voicemails he had and found exactly the one he was looking for. His fingers shook over the button hesitantly as if he hadn't listened to it a hundred times in the past.

His finger pressed the replay button, and Hank closed his eyes as Connor's shaky voice sounded through his ears.

“ _Hey, Hank... it's Connor.”_


	2. A Beach and a Corpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!!  
> This chapter contains a brief mention of rape, gore, a dead body and a lot of angst. Please proceed with caution!!  
> 

Androids couldn't feel the cold, but even Connor could tell it was absolutely freezing this morning.

Deafening waves crashed against the rocky sides of Belle Isle's beach, swept towards the shore by violent gusts of wind that made Hank instinctively pull at his coat to shelter himself from the biting cold as they walked across the sand, leaving footprints in their wake.

How many times had Connor told him this morning to put on something warmer? He'd practically thrown a jumper at him at one point, but Hank had been insistent in his stubbornness and waved it off dismissively with the claim “ _it can't be that bad.”_  Now, Connor was resisting the urge to say I told you so, reminding himself the cold was probably punishment enough for not heeding his advice.

A shiver had found it's way up Connor's spine on the way towards the Isle, but he knew it hadn't been due to the wind. It had come when Hank's car had begun crossing the bridge and the looming, dark shadow of the, now abandoned, Cyberlife Tower had come into view in the distance.

Connor could have sworn he'd felt his whole body freeze up on the spot, memories of the place had left vivid stamps on Connor's mind and now, looking up at it again for the first time in months, all that repressed fear had come circling back. The fear of driving to his death and leaving his new found life behind before he'd even had a chance to live it. The fear of losing the people he'd grown so close to, and the one person who mattered most.

But this time, Hank was there with him.

He knew it was just as bad for Hank. This was where he'd been held at gunpoint; taken to in the false security that he was safe with Connor when really he had been in more danger than he could have ever comprehended. Connor hated to imagine the look on Hank's face when he had realised it wasn't his RK800 leading him inside.

They'd exchanged a silent glance as they both somehow managed to read the other's mind, and that one brief look seemed to contain an entire conversation they didn't want to have before they'd both returned their attention to the road. Neither of them wanted to address what had happened the last time they'd both been here; for more than one reason.

But somehow, that one look between them had been enough to reassure Connor everything was okay.

The sound of Hank cursing beside him was enough to bring Connor back to reality just in time to catch him shivering again beside him, his coat only providing so much warmth from the bitter wind. It didn't look pleasant, but Connor still envied him.

He'd seen movies with Hank where a stereotypical, happy family would run in after a long day out in the cold and they'd warm themselves up with fuzzy blankets and hot cups of chocolate, the sensation and pleasure of the changing temperatures and the relief of jumping into a warm bed making their moods skyrocket.

Connor would never know that kind of feeling. He could stimulate it, but it wouldn't be the same, just a setting on a machine that felt false and out of place in the world.

But he'd be damned if he didn't make sure Hank felt those things.

His fingers found the ends of his scarf and unravelled it from around his neck, “Here, Lieutenant. Take this.”

“What?” Hank turned to see Connor's scarf in his outstretched hand and scoffed, “Fuck no, I don't want you catchin' a cold. I'll be fine.” He gritted out, stubborn as ever, and Connor let a smirk creep onto his face whilst he waited for him to realise what he'd just said.

Most of the time, Connor didn't feel like an Android when he was with Hank, who acted as if he could feel the cold, acted as if could eat, drink and sleep just like any other human could. It was nice. Hank's way of making sure Connor never felt left out of anything.

They stopped walking as Hank finally discerned his words, and he shot a glare at the smirk planted on Connor's face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gimme that.” He grumbled as he snatched the scarf from Connor's hands and wrapped it around his neck.

Connor restrained the urge to laugh; half because he knew Hank would slap him, and half because it didn't seem appropriate to be laughing this close to a crime scene.

Several forensic scientists roamed around the different areas of the beach, all talking, taking pictures and notes of the bits of 'evidence' scattered around the area. A few of them stopped what they were doing to say hello or wave to Hank, who only nodded his head, too cold to care about common courtesy right now.

Connor didn't look at any of the marked potential evidence they went past and didn't even bother doing a wide range scan of the area. He had read the report on the way down to the beach, and it had specifically said the body had washed up on the shore; if they'd had any items on their person that would give them any possible leads, they would have been removed by the killer or by the river's current. There was no way all their things would have conveniently appeared in the same location.

Connor wondered if they knew they were wasting their time, though if they didn't, he certainly wasn't going to tell them, yet. If everyone was preoccupied, it meant no one was looking at the body right now, and he and Hank could take a look without interruption.

“This better be good, Ben.” Hank called out across the beach with all the venom he could muster, catching the attention of Detective Collins who turned to face them.

“Ah, finally! It's about time someone useful turned up,” Ben exclaimed joyfully, a large grin on his face as he flicked his eyes up to Hank's, “and I see you brought the Lieutenant with you.”

A growl emanated from the back of Hank's throat and he reached out and shoved a hand into the Detective's shoulder, “Prick.” He muttered. To the uneducated, this could have looked like the beginning of a fight, but Connor and Ben could both see the smirk that played on Hank's lips. They'd known each other for a long time; this was just harmless fun.

Connor had already decided a while ago that he liked Ben. As soon as Cyberlife fell and the Android's were deemed a new intelligent life form, Ben had been one of the first to approach Connor and apologize for his previous behaviour. He couldn't recall the Detective ever doing anything that was harmful in any way, but the thought had still been nice and it was much more than idiots like Gavin had ever attempted to do.

Since then Connor had regarded him highly, seeing him as more of a friend than a co-worker. But right now they were co-workers, and this was a crime scene.

Hank's expression had become more serious at some point, “So what've we got?”

“Female. The body washed up on the shore at about 5pm yesterday. Only one woman called to report it, but there were around fifty people on the beach at the time. Some of them probably took off as quick as they could, but a lot of people were just filming it from what we've seen on Social Media.”

“Fuckin’ typical,” Hank muttered under his breath, “I hate phones.”

Ben carried on regardless, “We haven't identified the body yet. There was no ID on her and we're guessing she probably didn't live near here, but from the looks of things, I'd say she was in her 40's. DNA samples have been sent off and we'll know more in a couple of hours.” They approached the white tent near the end of the beach and stepped inside, where a body shaped lump lay under a white sheet. Connor registered the smell and noticed Hank's nose crinkle at the same time, he imagined it wasn't a nice scent; the mix of a salty beach and a fresh corpse.

He'd been undoubtedly worried that Hank wouldn't have time to eat today, but Connor could wager food was now the last thing on his mind.

Ben had never been good with smells, and that was evident now from the way he gagged beside of Hank, covering his nose and mouth with a hand, “God, I hate that smell. I'll leave you to it, call if you need or find anything.” He said, his words muffled from behind his hand, but he stopped before he could leave the tent. “Oh, and I should warn you, it's not exactly a nice sight.”

“We'll manage.” Hank nodded, with a reassurance that Connor didn't believe at all, but Ben hurried out from the tent without another word.

Connor didn't take his gaze off of the figure on the ground, furrows appearing on his forehead, “Do you think it's that bad?”

He noticed Hank's shoulders raise in the corner of his eye, “Only one way to find out.” He said, his voice edging on uncertainty as he crossed to the sheet on the ground and knelt beside it. His fingers found the corner and, with one final glance at Connor, pulled it away slowly to reveal the abhorrent scene beneath them.

Dead, lifeless eyes stared up at them from a ground. The woman's skin was a deadly pale colour that Connor could only compare to a sheet of ice in a blizzard. The ghost of black marks and bruises tinted the corners of her mouth and left her lips puffy and swollen, and they carried down her neck where the black of the contusions mixed with the soft blue lines of the carotid artery veins that no longer served their function.

Her thin body was covered only by a ripped vest and a pair of shorts, stripped of the rest of her dignity as if death wasn't humiliating enough. Where brown locks of hair should have been there was now blooded and battered bits of skin, her scalp viciously torn as if someone had tried to cut her open and reveal all the secrets her mind had to offer. Her left arm was bent in a way that shouldn't have been possible for a human, resembling a ragdoll that had been discarded after use. Connor didn't even need to scan it to know it was broken.

The most disturbing thing, however, by far, was the machinery.

The once delicate skin which had protected her heart had been cut open, cut so precisely it was as if she were made of paper, and instead of a human heart, like there should have been, a broken, Android Thirium pump lay within her chest. It flickered pathetically and dimly lit the inside of her body, a blue hue against the pale skin.

Her right arm was also missing, and instead, she had a battered, synthetic white arm that, again, must have belonged to an Android. The metal of the machinery had been melted into the joint of her shoulder with wax, and it had left angry burn marks along her skin there.

Connor heard the sharp breath that Hank took, and didn't blame him, “ _Jesus_.”

He hadn't really said anything that Connor could agree too, but Connor still nodded his head in silent accord.

“Fowler _thinks_ this could be related to that other case?” Hank gagged as he circled around the body, noticing the way her human arm was positioned, “This is exactly how we found that guy. Thirium pump and all.”

Hank wasn't wrong; the body they had discovered at the abandoned farm last month had been very similar to this one, except his heart was the only thing that had been replaced and he wasn't nearly in such a bad condition as this woman was.

When Hank had informed Connor the murder's could have been linked, he'd expected something similar, but this was so much worse than he could have imagined.

The sight of her mangled body pulled at something within Connor, knowing this woman would have probably been beautiful and full of life only a few days ago, her whole life ahead of her. And now, just like that, she'd had it all snatched away by some cruel bastard who saw this as sane.

He was sure that, if he were human, he'd be gagging too right now.

Silently, he moved towards the body and dropped to his knees beside her, letting his eyes wander up to her ashen-face. Hank saw the blue of his LED flicker into a dazzling yellow colour and knew he was scanning her. Without even moving his eyes he reached into his side pocket and withdrew his little flipbook and pen, opening it up and beginning to take notes.

At first, Hank had never been sure as to why Connor insisted on doing this at crime scenes. He was basically a computer, for fuck's sake, any information he found he could just store inside his mind palace and transfer it to the Captain when they got back to the station. But then, Hank had come to realise that it was probably for the same reason he wore warm coats and scarves and watched stupid movies with Hank for hours that he could have just looked up in his head.

It was because Connor liked doing things that made him feel more like a human. He liked watching the weather forecast in the morning and pulling on an extra layer when it said there'd be wind, he liked curling up on a couch and actually experiencing a movie rather than reading about it. He liked writing down all his findings in his little book at crime scenes and typing them up when he got back to the station, pretending like he couldn't just keep it all on a file in a database in his head.

And, to be completely honest with himself, Hank liked it too; if he wasn't currently leaning over a dead body, he would even say he looked cute.

_Wait, what?_

“Found anythin'?” Hank asked, distracting himself from his thoughts.

“Her name is Lauren Miller, she's 39 and unemployed. She has a criminal record of prostitution and being involved in anti-android riots and violent protests. She used to be married but she and her husband got divorced three years ago. No children.” He announces as nonchalantly as possible, his eyes not even leaving his little book.

Hank smiled, never tiring of that. It was always so fucking badass that Connor could tell all of that just by looking at her face, and he didn't mind admitting it in his head.

“Nice one, Sherlock.” He grumbled simply in response and felt a twinge of pride when he noticed the smile on Connor's lips. At least he understood most of his references now. Hank moved towards the tent entrance and peered out at the other's who were still investigating the so-called evidence. “Didn't Ben say the body washed up?”

“He did, Lieutenant.” Connor replied, somewhere.

“Well, then why the hell are they snooping around all that crap then?” He huffed in confusion, wondering why half of these people were employed in the first place. “Surely none of those things belongs to her, if she had anything then there's no way they would have washed up in the same place.”

It was Connor's turn to smile now. This was the exact reason he liked having Hank as his partner; as much as he pretended to not give two shits about his job, he was bloody good at it.

Connor returned his gaze to the body and focused now on the bruising around her lips and neck, and in the process of doing so noticed stains on the black material of her vest. They were faded, no doubt from the water, but his scanners could still pick it up. He let them do the work and when the results appeared in his vision, he felt himself wince.

“She may have been involved in sexual activities before she was attacked.” Connor mused out loud and looked up to see Hank kneeling down opposite him, trying to see what he was looking at. Connor gestured to the areas of her vest where the stains had been, though he knew Hank couldn't see them. “Traces of seminal fluid here and here. Not enough for a DNA sample though, unfortunately.”

“Well, at least we know we're looking for a guy. Y'reckon it was a client?”

“Potentially, we shouldn't rule it out.”

Hank sighed heavily, a guttural sound that he often used to express his distaste in humanity, “The sick bastard probably fucked her mouth and then bashed her head in when he was finished.”

Connor wasn't exactly sure what this entailed, but from Hank's description, he got a general idea.

“That would explain the bruising and swelling on her lips.” He nodded in agreement, orientating himself around the body to get a better look at the injuries on her head. “There were several bashes. Either the first one didn't do the job or the killer really had it in for her.”

“Can you figure out what she was hit with?” Hank asked, drawing himself up to full height again with a groan when his knees cracked.

Connor's LED flashed again as he scanned the hit marks: **critical damage level 3, caused by**... “A candlestick.”

“Huh. A Cluedo fan, then.”

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion but Hank just waved him off dismissively. Connor understood most of his references, but not all. He hadn't gotten around to explaining all of them yet.

God, he couldn't even imagine what fresh hell he would endure playing Cluedo with Connor.

Hank reminded himself to focus as he circled the body again, and noticed markings on her wrist and ankles with a frown, “Have you seen these marks here?”

Connor hadn't. He followed his gaze and let his scanners take over again. “Rope marks.” He determined, and felt his frown return. “Why would he have tied her up? The blow on her head is definitely the cause of death, what reason would he have had to tie her up before that?”

Hank couldn't help but smile at the innocence in Connor's tone and expression, it was endearing, but he really didn't want to have to explain this to him. “He... could have been into rough play, wanted to tie her up whilst he fucked or somethin'.”

Connor stared back at him a bewildered expression as if he couldn't quite understand why anyone would want to do that. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

In his mind, he set a reminder for himself to look up what 'rough play' meant. Hank had mentioned it a few times in the past and seemed pretty knowledgeable in the subject, but Connor felt like it wasn't something he could just ask about. He'd discovered, through trial and error, that humans were touchy when it came to conversations about intercourse.

Connor pushed that thought aside, for now, it was not the sort of thing he should be thinking about at a time like this. Instead, he brought his attention back to the body in front of him, and to the mechanical arm and heart that they hadn't addressed yet.

A long silence followed in which he and Hank both seemed to just stare down at the Thirium pump in her chest, neither sure what to say first.

“This is the second time we've found a body like this,” Connor breathed quietly after a beat, though his eyes didn't move, “I... I can't help but feel as if we're going to find more.”

Hank nodded but he didn't speak. Anything he said would just add to the worry he could see building up in Connor's head.

The sound of his throat clearing filled the silence again, “You said this woman was involved in the AA riots. Our last guy was too.”

“He's targetting people who hate Androids, then.” Connor decided, big brown eyes finding Hank's dull blue ones. “Do you think they're an Android?”

Hank hesitated, unsure on how to word his sentence, “I don't know, I mean... there's semen on her vest.”

Connor stared back at him as if that meant nothing.

“Well, I don't anything about...” Hank was exasperated, and he felt the heat on his cheeks and was suddenly glad he had a beard and long hair to hide it. “Can Androids even _do that_?”

“I'm not sure, I haven't experienced it myself.” Connor said, as simply as that, and Hank wondered how the fuck he did it so openly. 

“Well, I don't think we should jump to conclusions just yet.”

“Lieutenant, what motive would a _human_ have for doing something like this?”

“You'd be surprised, Con,” Hank frowned, “I told you last night, humans have done a lot of fucked up shit before, and for no good reason. A human could be behind this just as much as an Android could.”

Connor nodded, but it was obvious he didn't agree.

“One thing is certain, though.” Hank added, and Connor's head came up again.

“And what's that?”

“For every human we find like this,” Hank started, looking over the whirring machinery attached to the woman's body, “there's a dead Android somewhere else.”

 

* * *

 

They didn't talk on the way back to the station. Come to think of it, they hadn't really talked at the station either. 

Whilst Hank had been typing up a report on their findings at the crime scene, Connor had been scanning the terminal for any missing Androids reported over the last month, and they'd both done so in complete silence.

_“You're worryin’ about somethin’ that could never happen. I know I said Detroit isn't quiet anymore, but that doesn't mean some psycho is gonna go on a cannibalistic, killing spree.”_

Those had been Hank's exact words last night. The words he had used to reassure Connor that they weren't going to run into a serial killer case any time soon. And now here they were, writing up the details of the second body they'd found from the same killer and checking for Androids that could be their next potential victim.

It worried Hank immensely, to the point where he could hardly even focus on what he was writing. Connor had already been so overly concerned about something like this and now it was actually happening. Luckily, the cannibal thing hadn't come into play... yet, and he hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't.

Connor didn't seem as preoccupied as he had yesterday, though. He'd barely been able to keep his eyes open, and not from a lack of sleep, but because he kept overthinking things and getting into his head. It had seemed about something entirely different yesterday, however, and he still hadn't told Hank exactly what it was he was struggling with. But he could wager he knew what it was.

“I'm gonna get a coffee,” Hank said as he pulled himself up from his seat, hearing bones shift and pop as he did, “You want anythin', Con?” He asked, as he always did. He knew that Connor would always say no, but he just felt more polite asking.

His head shook minutely, a minuscule thing but there none the less, and so Hank disappeared to go and fetch his drink. He was fucking _desperate_ to get some caffeine in his system.

Connor had been staring at the missing person's page for what felt like hours, scanning the cases for any they clue or lead they could possibly look into. The two bodies they had already found, Lauren Miller and Graham Nolan, had been relatively nearby in the grand scheme of things... just on different sides of the river. The only missing Androids or humans for that matter, that had been reported over the last month were on the other side of Detroit, and one of them had already been found.

It could have been possible that the killer was moving the bodies after he was finished with them, but the space between the certified time of death and the time the bodies were found didn't coalesce with such a long trip. Nothing was lining up and it was bloody frustrating.

He sighed a stimulated breath and leaned back into his chair, wondering if they could-

“What's up, asshole?” An all too familiar voice pierced through Connor's bubble of thought, and Connor raised his head to see the scruffy appearance and annoying grin of Gavin Reed. He felt the sudden urge to roll his eyes but pressed it down.

“Good afternoon, Detective Reed.”

“Oh fucking hell, don't start with the niceties so early.” He rolled his eyes because he could, and that made Connor's Thirum boil. His ass was promptly sat on his desk, slotting himself between Connor and his workstation. “What'cha working on, tin can? _My_ case, by any chance?”

“The one you were originally assigned to, yes.”  _But you couldn't find anything_ , Connor added in his head, almost smugly. “Though I'll think you'll find it's Lieutenant Anderson's case now, and mine, of course.”

Gavin's teeth gritted, “Oh yeah? Find anythin’ interesting?”

“A couple of things. I have it all on file, but I can't share it with you. Sorry, Detective.” He smiled back as pleasantly as he could with a ball of anger in his stomach. Truthfully, he was glad, he hated working on cases with Reed, and he knew Hank did too.

When Gavin just stared back at him and said nothing, Connor decided he was done with the conversation and turned his head so he was facing his desk. He couldn't get to his terminal but he could still work on paper or in his head.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Gavin's tongue slick against his bottom lip, a motion he had seen Hank do many times in the past when he was angry at something on the television, and watched the Detective's gaze scan around the office. No one was watching them, and they both realised that at the same time. Connor knew what that meant.

Perhaps he would have moved faster if his mind wasn't so occupied, but his foggy head had made him slow and Gavin's hands were gripping at his collar before he'd even had a chance to react.

“You listen to me, you plastic prick,” Gavin spat into his face, his grip harsh on his collar and his hushed tone somehow more frightening this his usual voice, “I'm fed up of you and Anderson constantly stealin’ my cases. If I have to go and deal with narcotics one more fucking time, I'm gonna gouge your eyes out.”

“That isn't my problem, Detective. You just aren't doing your job right.” Connor said, calmly, knowing full well the sentence would trigger his anger more, but he didn't care. There was no fear in his eyes, albeit a lot of suppressed frustration. “Now if you'd please let go of me, Detective.”

Gavin's face was a picture, his face was a bright shade of crimson and his glare could probably cut through metal, “You shut your fucking mouth.” He growled, taking another quick look around to make sure no was looking. Connor absently wondered how long it took to make one damn cup of coffee. “You think you're so fucking special, well you know what I think? I think you're just a piece of metal walking around pretending you have emotions when you don't feel _shit_. I know it, Anderson knows it, and everyone else at this station knows it.”

“Gavin, I asked you to let go of me.”

“Don't you fucking _dare_ order me about.”

“I'm not-”

“You are the one who takes orders, understand? That's what you were designed for.” Gavin snarled, making Connor's anger simmer and boil to the point where he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. “You hear me? You were _designed_. You're not alive, you don't have rights, you're just a fucking _machine!”_

Connor punched him.

He punched him because he was angry. Because he was so filled with emotions that he couldn't explain and it hurt to the point where everything just felt numb. Because he couldn't talk to Hank about something so simple and because Hank wouldn't talk to him. Because there was a serial killer on the loose who was just as much a threat to Hank as he was to him. He punched him because he wasn't a machine, he _was_ _alive_ , and these emotions he felt were too painful to not be real.

The sound of his synthetic fist connecting with Gavin's jaw was a tumultuous and awful sound that echoed around the station and caused everyone to turn their heads to see what was happening. The Detective fell back off the desk with a thud and instantly brought a hand up to clutch his bloodied nose, streams of red liquid pouring down his face and into his mouth. He hadn't even cried out, in too much shock to utter a sound. Connor had never retaliated before, not even with words.

Hank had walked back into the office space just as it happened, and nearly dropped scolding coffee over himself with a curse. He'd only been gone two minutes and Connor was punching someone in the face. He abandoned his mug on a desk, much to the complaint of someone he didn't really care about, and was by his side in seconds, stepping over Gavin's form on the ground without a care in the world.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Hank asked, not even worrying about how panicked he'd allowed his tone to be in front of everyone else; Connor's whole body was shaking and his LED was red with fire, and that was enough to take all of Hank's attention. Rough hands came up to pry open Connor's smooth ones when Hank noticed his fists, clenched so tight it had peeled back his synthetic fluid on his hands to reveal the white plastic body beneath.

“Are you hurt? Connor, talk to me.”

Connor tried; he really did, but sound refused to come from his lips no matter how much he wanted it too. He knew Hank was there, but all he could see were the blurred dots of the people around him, his vision so unfocused he couldn't help but wonder if his optical unit had stopped working. There was acid in the pit of his body that didn't belong there, burning through him and threatening to push into his throat as if he could vomit.

He had a brief debate with himself if this was what Human's experienced before they passed out.

Hank, realising he wasn't going to get anything from Connor right now, turned his attention to the Police Officers and other Detectives around him, two of which were currently pulling Gavin up from the floor. The Captain was nowhere in sight, luckily, and Hank was relieved to see that out of everyone gathered around the scene, he was the one who held the most power.

“Alright, shows over! Everyone back to work.” He ordered but wasn't surprised to see Gavin retaliating almost straight away.

“I don't think so! You're stupid Android just attacked me for no reason, I want a shot at him.” Gavin advanced without warning towards Connor, but Hank's hands were pushing into his shoulders and shoving him away before he could even get close.

“That's _enough_ , Reed. Unless you want me to pull up Connor's memory archives and see what really happened? I'm sure Fowler’d love to see that.” Hank growled down at him, with a look on his face that, with no doubt, could wither flowers. Gavin's jaw clenched, but he said nothing, and that was all the answer he needed. “Didn't think so. Now, go and clean yourself up. Yer bleedin’ all over my workspace.”

Gavin didn't move for a moment, returning Hank's glare with hatred and malice, before he pushed off the Officer's helping him and stormed away towards the bathrooms. Hank eventually managed to wave the other's away too, and turned back to Connor as they dispersed to see him standing in the exact same position.

Taking ahold of his arm, Hank pulled Connor towards a secluded section of the station, behind one of the walls where he knew no one else would be able to see them. At least he could try to calm Connor down there without anyone interfering.

As soon as they were around the corner, Hank's hand found the side of Connor's face and tilted his head up, making lost brown eyes look up at him. “S'alright, everyone's gone now. You can talk to me.”

Connor wasn't sure what was more overwhelming; the rush of everything that had just happened or the feeling of Hank's skin against his. “I... I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I don't know what came over me.”

“Don't apologise, just tell me what the fuck happened.”

“I was... He just came over and started trying to intimidate me, as usual. I asked him to stop but he just kept on and he grabbed me and called me a machine and I just-” Connor swallowed down the strange sensation he felt in his throat, his head shaking rapidly. “I'm _not_ a machine.”

Hank smiled as he remembered the last time Connor had said a sentence like that with such strength, except he'd been telling Kamski he wasn't a Deviant.

“No, you're not. And don't ever let asshats like Gavin tell you otherwise, you hear me?” Hank said, determined, but then allowed himself to laugh as soon as he'd said it. “Mind, I don't think he'll try anythin’ again. You messed up his face good and proper.”

Connor didn't answer, just stared down at his hands in shame, clearly not as proud of it as Hank was. At least his hands were back to normal now.

“I'm just sayin’ you did well to defend yourself.” Hank tried again, wanting to just see a smile on his face, but, despite his efforts, he still offered no response. “Connor, c'mon kid, talk to me.”

“Lieutenant, please. I'm fine.” He responded finally, though he was more focused now on straightening out his tie and collar that Gavin had messed up.

“Really? You coulda just broke a man's nose, I'd hardly call that fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Con, just-”

“I said _I'm fine_!” Connor snapped back suddenly, anger returning to his tone and making Hank's eyes widen. He was sure everyone else in the station would have been able to hear that, and he was undoubtedly glad he'd decided to move their conversation out of sight of prying eyes. There had only been a few times in the past where Connor had raised his voice, and it was hardly ever towards him unless there was a good reason.

Connor bit down on his bottom lip once he realised how quick tempered he'd allowed himself to be. It hadn't meant to come out like that, but he was just so in his head and Hank was so calm and he needed some kind of reaction other than sympathy. He needed Hank to return the anger he was feeling.

Gavin had just been fuel in an already burning fire that Hank had started. On a typical day those kinds of comments the Detective made would have brushed off his shoulder easily, but of all days Gavin had chosen the day he was feeling the most vulnerable and defenceless to these emotions and his cruel words had sent him into overdrive. Yes, perhaps Gavin deserved it, but he wasn't the one who'd poked the flames in the first place.

 _Hank was_.

Hank who, now, stared back at him as if his anger was completely misplaced. As if it wasn't his fault Connor was feeling this way. As if he didn't deserve to feel all the emotions Connor had been stuck with for the past three months. And that just pissed him off more.

The Lieutenant didn't respond for a while, but when he did, his response was probably the only thing that could have made Connor feel worse. A scoff of sarcasm and uncertainty poured into a single word, “ _Sure_.”

Connor felt blue blood boiling and bit his tongue to stop him saying or doing something he might regret. He'd already embarrassed himself enough today. “I need to get back to work.” He settled with, deciding it was the best way to end this conversation and get to doing something that would take his mind off of it. If he didn't focus on something else soon, he was sure he would burst.

He didn't give Hank a chance to respond, disappearing back around the corner before he could even take in what he said. He ignored all the eyes he felt on him when he walked back into view of the other officers, paying them no mind, and he certainly didn't look over to where Gavin stood with a bloodied tissue pressed to his nose. Distracting himself was the only thing that seemed important right now. He needed to work, and work he would.

He would work until he found some kind of lead that would make today worth the desolation.

 

* * *

 

In an alleyway not so far from the station, lit only by dim, flickering street lights, a dark figure rested idly on the wall looking out onto the busy street. The man's dark cap and large coat kept his face and body concealed from any on-lookers who passed, as he just sat back and watched the world go by.

His attention focused specifically on a large group of people, expressions of fury planted on their faces as they held up signs and shouted words of abuse outside of a restaurant window. The man recognised it as one of the first businesses to have opened completely run by an Android-only family; it had been hugely successful and a great step forward for Androids and Humans alike.

Though, apparently not so great for these people.

He couldn't help but laugh at them. What difference did they think they were going to make with their silly words and their handmade signs. What did they hope to accomplish? _Nothing_ could stop progress.

And soon, they would all know exactly how much there was still to change.

An absent eye flicked over to one man who parted himself from the crowd, waving goodbye to all of them as if it were just a weekly social gathering. Waving goodbye to them as if he was sure he was going to see them all again. Typical, naive humans.

Reaching into the shadows of the alleyway behind him, soft fur pressed into the tips of his fingers as a large Dobermann appeared from the darkness. An LED flashed at the side of its head, it's teeth bared and snapping as it saw the man his master had set his focus on.

“Let's play a game, shall we, boy?” The man smiled down to the mechanical animal, scratching behind its ears with more affection than he'd ever had for a Human or Android. His smile became a dark grin, reaching the madness in his eyes that watched the innocent man.

“ _Go fetch_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The plot; she thickens like a bowl of hot soup!”  
> Thank you for all your kudos and lovely comments, you’re all so amazing <3


	3. Opened 10/11/38

On Fridays, Connor and Hank's station shifts end simultaneously at 5:30.

Sometimes, when they were stuck on a case they couldn't solve or they found themselves knee-deep in paperwork, they would stay behind for an extra hour or so to get everything finished.

Today, it was Friday, and it was currently _8 pm_.

Connor was still sat at his terminal, like he had been for the past four hours, scanning file after file of missing person's reports and other cases to try and find a clue they could lead with. It seemed impossible. Nothing was lining up and Connor hadn't felt so stuck on a case since he'd tried to figure out who rA9 was.

Hank was on his fifth coffee of the day and still hadn't eaten anything except a couple of doughnuts, so naturally, he was feeling rather grouchy. He was practically falling asleep in his office chair, daydreaming about the pizza in his fridge and the comfort of his bed. He'd considered getting up and leaving about several thousand times by this point, and maybe he should have, but deep down he knew he didn't want to leave Connor by himself, especially since this was _their_ case and leaving Connor to solve it on his own felt cruel and too much like defeat.

Not that he was being much help. He had tried, but it was hard to work with someone who didn't want to talk to you.

So, Hank just offered what he could and clung to the short responses Connor gave him when he forgot he was trying to be angry with him.

He couldn't recall ever seeing him like this before. There had been plenty of times in the past where Connor had got frustrated at a case they couldn't solve or at a bad run-in with Gavin, but those spurts of annoyance usually only lasted an hour or so before Connor returned to his usual chirpy self. This was something completely different.

The wildness of his eyes when he'd punched Gavin, the way his body had trembled and frozen in shock of is own actions, the tone of his voice when he'd shouted at him. It was so unlike him that it almost frightened Hank; whatever it was he had bottled up inside his head was eating him alive and Hank wasn't sure how he could help.

Well, maybe he did know, but going about it was another thing entirely.

“Have you found anythin' yet?” Hank finally spoke, breaking the hour-long silence that had been driving him mad.

A grimace formed on the Android's features as if he didn't want to respond, out of pique towards him or from not finding anything, Hank couldn't tell. But when Connor promptly shoved his keyboard away and shook his head, he got his answer.

“No, nothing.” He gritted out, that same anger from earlier still in his voice. “The only missing case that could be even remotely linked is on the other side of town, and it's already being investigated.”

“Fucking-A. Why doesn't that surprise me?” Hank lifted a hand and pressed fingers into his eyes as if quelling a terrible headache, and truthfully he could feel one coming on. Maybe five cups of coffee wasn’t such a good idea.

Connor looked down at the Japanese Maple on Hank's desk, as though he could find all the answers in the unwatered soil. “We could be looking in the wrong places. There are still people who trade in Androids and spare parts, the killer could be getting what he needs from them.”

“Yeah, that'd make sense,” Hank nodded in agreement, “didya find anythin' like that in the case files?”

“A few mentions of areas thought to be tapped into Black Market distributions, but nothing concrete. I can do some more research tonight so we have an idea of where to start.”

“Sure. Okay. But why don't you look tomorrow instead?” He tried, watching the furrows appear in Connor's forehead. “You look bone tired, Con. I think you need all your hours tonight.”

“Lieutenant, Android's don't get tired.”

Hank shrugged careless shoulders at him, just wanting a reason to take them home, “Maybe, but I'm sure there's still some kinda limit to how much you can do, right? An.. overcharged computer can break down, and so can you if yer not careful.”

“I'm a little more advanced than a computer, Lieutenant.”

“For fuck's sake, Connor, can we just go home?” Hank finally allowed himself to snap. “I’m tired, I ain’t eaten, _and_ I’m missing the Gears’ final.” - the latter point is the one Hank stresses most - “I know you wanna solve this case before anythin' else happens, but makin' us work through the night is only gonna render us useless when we need to take action.”

A long silence stretched out between them in which Connor just blinked at him few times as if deliberating with himself in his head.

“You haven't eaten?” He asked quietly, worry pushing past his stubbornness and making itself known.

“A coffee and a couple doughnuts.”

Another beat.

“We can go.” Connor finally caved, and Hank could have punched the air. Not that he would _ever_ do that, he was just extremely relieved.

As they both stood to gather their things and pull on their coats, Hank couldn't help but notice the fond feeling lighting in his chest. Of all the things he'd just said, and as much as Connor had tried to stay mad at him all day, the fact that Hank hadn't eaten was enough to make Connor abandon his pride out of concern for him.

Hank was an old man, he could look after himself, but it had been a long time since anyone else had wanted to take some of that weight too and he hadn't realized how nice it would feel. It wasn't like Connor hadn't looked after him in the past; heck, he'd saved his sorry ass more times than he could count. But that was before when it was his _duty_ to do so. Now, Connor was alive and free to do as he wished, nothing keeping him at the DPD, or even Detroit for that matter.

Yet, here he still was, by Hank's side every day without fail, putting all his needs first and caring for him indubitably.

And Hank was exactly the fucking same; whether or not he could feel Connor's eyes currently burning holes into his skull, he still cared about the prick.

He cared about Connor.

And as he buttoned up his coat, he ignored how the word ‘love’ sprung to mind.

 

* * *

 

The engine of Hank's Ford Capri groaned to life as the keys were turned and Hank suddenly realized how much he related to this car, grunting at the thought of doing anything. It was old, just like him, so it was hardly a surprise.

The thought had never really crossed his mind about getting an upgraded model, and he certainly didn't want one of those stupid self-driving ones. Call it a mid-life crisis or whatever, but Hank liked things that made him feel young again, and this specific car was one of those things. The odd look was shot his way from time to time, but as long as it could get him from A to B, he really didn't care.

Besides, he didn't spend _two_ years trying to pass his driving test to just go and buy a shitty self-driving thing.

The car was deadly silent again, and Hank had a strong sense of deja vu. Connor's head wasn't leaning on the window this time, but his arms were folded in a mulish manner and he hadn't moved his gaze once from the window, purposely not giving him any attention. It was unclear to Hank which had been worse; the silence when he was suffering or the silence when he was trying to make Hank suffer.

A red light in the distance made Hank halt to a stop, heaving the handbrake up so he could take his hands off the wheel and reach into the glove box to search for his cigarette case. Another thing he got a lot of looks for. Whilst cigarettes were more common than manual cars, the default these days were usually e-cigarettes and vapes, and there weren't many places that sold normal cigarettes now. This didn't annoy Hank as much though; he hardly ever smoked anymore, only when he was having a particularly shitty day or if he'd had a bit too much to drink, so it was easier to avoid the strange looks for this.

He withdrew one of the king-sized from its case and popped it between his craving lips, hands fumbling in his jacket pocket for the Zippo lighter he always carried with him. The sound of it snapping must have attracted Connor's attention, because his LED flashed red and the flame lit up his brown eyes as he glanced over at him.

If there was one thing Connor hated more than him drinking, it was when he smoked.

The lighter's flickering flame latched onto the end of his cigarette, and the golden glow only proliferated as Hank inhaled deeply, taking his first drag. Smoke seeped into his lungs that probably screamed at him for depriving them of oxygen, but he had little regard for it, too engrossed in the familiar comfort that soothed his being.

He took it from his mouth again and sloped his arm over the already open window beside him. With only one hand on the wheel, another thing Connor hated, he kept on driving, not paying any mind to the glaring eyes that were set on him from the passenger seat.

For a brief moment it seemed as though Connor would finally say something, but unfortunately, after an eternity of scowling, he simply scoffed and turned his head away again.

Hank blew smoke from his mouth and watched as it ribboned in the air before tapering out of existence, “Really, Con? Nothin' to say? No comments about my bad habits and my health and all that crap?”

Connor stayed silent, his shoulders tight but fixed, refusing to even turn his head.

It was Hank's turn to scoff now, “Moody bastard.” He muttered under his breath, but it was purposeful and he knew full well Connor would have been able to hear it.

It didn't correspond with Hanks thoughts though; it was just simple projection. A throwaway comment to try and get a rise out of him. There was no doubt that Connor probably knew this too.

In the back of his mind, Hank wondered if even Sumo could pull him out of this mood.

Like every night when they returned home, Hank parked the car, unlocked the door and scooted past Sumo to pour a whiskey in the kitchen. He eyeballed the Saint Bernard when he ran over to Connor, who followed Hank inside a few moments later, and wasn't surprised to see him leaning down and giving the dog a couple of head scratches.

Of course, what had he been thinking? There was no way any tantrum would stop him from giving Sumo all the love in the world.

The trenchcoat around his shoulders was unbuttoned and his scarf, which Hank couldn't remember giving him back, was removed and hung up neatly on the coat rack. He trudged himself towards the couch and allowed his form to sink into it, soft cushions denting inwards at his weight, and he let his head fall back in a manner that Hank could only associate with exhaustion.

“ _Lieutenant, Android's don't get tired_.” Yeah, fucking right.

A synthetic hand came up to his collar and tugged until the top button snapped out of its hole, and Hank felt the grip on his glass get a little tighter when he loosened his tie with _a fucking groan_ and revealed the smooth skin of his neck. Hank's lips pressed together. That had either been awfully attractive, or downright annoying.

He decided it was probably both.

Regardless, Hank carried on with what he was doing. The leftover pizza in the fridge didn't look as satisfying as it had last night; there was no sizzling heat or smell and the hard texture of the crust resembled that of cardboard. Perhaps he shouldn't have left it in the fridge for so long. Even still, he dropped the contents of the box onto the plate he'd set up beside his whiskey glass.

There was no fucking _way_ he was wasting pizza.

Hank looked between the table in the kitchen and the couch in the living room and considered his options. If he ate in the kitchen, away from Connor, he would be angry. If he went and sat beside Connor to eat, he would be angry. If he ate in his bedroom, he would be angry, except maybe Hank wouldn't have to sit through it. There really didn't seem to be any positive outcome from this situation.

All Hank knew was that, at some point, Connor was going to snap.

There had been many times when Hank had been in this position, before and after Cole's death, keeping in all his anger and frustration until he felt as if he could explode, and then proceeding to take it all out on whoever would listen. No doubt that was what Connor was going through at this current moment. Perhaps he'd picked it up from him, from living with him so long. And if he had, he dreaded to think what other habits he'd start to pick up.

Decided, he moved into the living room and sat on the armchair beside the couch, sitting contently with his cold pizza and whiskey. Sumo was spread out on the couch beside Connor anyway, so he could blame it on the poor dog if he needed too.

Hank spotted the remote on the coffee table and picked it up, aiming it at the television and moving his thumb to the on-switch.

“Didn't you have that for dinner last night?” Connor's voice piped up, and Hank was surprised to hear it after such a long interval of silence.

“Yeah,” Hank lowered the remote to look at him, “what of it?”

Connor's shoulders shifted in a lackadaisical shrug, looking down at his hands and pretending to consider his nails. Eyes rolling on automatic, Hank lifted the remote again.

“245 milligrams.” Connor muttered.

“What?”

“245 milligrams of Cholesterol.” Connor said again, more firmly this time, though his eyes didn't move.

Hank grunted, frustration seeping into his tone, “And why do I care?”

“It's over your recommended daily intake.”

“Still not a good enough reason, Con.”

A beat.

“So, living isn't a good enough reason?”

Hank's jaw clenched at the same time Connor's eyes narrowed.

 _Here we go_.

Hands pressed into the arms of the chair as Hank hauled himself up, half wishing he could just eat his fucking pizza and watch the Gears in peace, but he knew that wasn't going to happen now. He marched into the kitchen solely for the purpose of walking away from Connor's anger, but he didn't have a reason to go there, so he went about clearing space from the table as if planning on eating there instead. He didn't need to turn around to know Connor's eyes were still on him.

“Are you just going to ignore me, Lieutenant?” Connor scowled, his arms folded.

“Yep. It's fuckin’ annoying, innit?”

Shuffling sounded in his ears and he knew that Connor had stood up from the couch, and he also caught sight of Sumo plodding towards the corridor in the corner of his eye. That dog always had a way of knowing when an argument was brewing, the poor thing was probably used to it from being stuck with such a temperamental asshole for so long.

Hank downed his whiskey, realizing he would need it.

“Is that poison not good enough by itself tonight?” Connor asked, with venom poured into every syllable of his speech. It was a low blow, and that's what Connor had intended it to be, but Hank held his ground.

“It’s not as if the smoking's bad enough, but you have to drink tonight as well? Are you that determined to kill yourself?”

Nothing.

“You know, I hope we do find this killer. Maybe then you won't have to try so _hard_ every day, they could just kill you themselves!”

His shoulders tensed, but there was still nothing.

“After all, that's what you want, right? Someone else to pull the fucking trigger because you can't do it yourself?!”

 _Too far_.

“That's _enough_!” Hank roared, a precipitous change in his tone that made Connor take a step back. The room fell into a terrible silence and Connor felt acid in his stomach. He'd wanted a reaction and he's got one, but he wasn't happy about it.

Hank's expression shifted, from outrage to fatigue to an indifference that Connor couldn't read at all, and he found himself steadying his stance and lowering his head in preparation for whatever he would do next. For the harsh words, he would spit back at him or the deserving slap across his face.

He waited.

And _waited_.

But no words came.

Instead, a hand found Connor's shoulder and pulled him into a warm body. Strong arms wrapped around his lithe form and his respiratory unit momentarily stopped working as his face pressed against Hank's shoulder. Of all the reactions Connor had foreseen, this had _not_ been one of them.

“You're really messed up, aren't you, kid?” Hank's voice was deep but there was a softness to it that Connor could only recall hearing once before, and it made him want to bury himself in Hank's warmth and never move again. He brought his arms up slowly and clutched at the back of his shirt, allowing himself to press into him, and it took all of Hank's strength to let him do it.

“I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean that. I was just-”

“I know.” Hank reassured before Connor even had time to explain; because Hank always knew.

Kamski had once told them that Androids were superior to Humans in every way, but in this very moment, Connor doubted that very much. Sometimes it felt like Hank was so much more knowledgeable than he could ever be.

Muscled arms finally withdrew and Connor _felt cold_. It was dissatisfying and made him want to push his way back against Hank's body.

Their eyes met again and Connor found Hank's blue pools filled with sadness and bloodshot edges, and his chest ached because he'd done that. He'd said those awful things that never needed to be said, simply because of his own frustration. Hank was the one he was angry with, that was true, but that didn't mean Connor needed to make him suffer like he was.

“I'm... gonna have a shower.” Hank breathed, a considerable juxtaposition to the bellow he'd given before. There were so many conflicting emotions within those five words that Connor wanted to grab them, cradle them, but before he could even think of a response Hank was moving towards the bathroom, whiskey in hand.

Connor's mind raced to try and scramble together something to say, some kind of comfort he could offer, but the bathroom door was shut by the time he remembered how to speak.

He stared at the closed door for a long time, the sound of running water sounding in his cochlea as Hank turned on the shower, and Connor could already tell he would be in there for the rest of the night. And it was his fault. He'd shouted and cursed at him when Hank had done nothing.

All because of that _stupid_ voicemail.

And suddenly, without knowing why, his anger faded and his rational side kicked in.

In truth, Connor had no way of knowing if he'd even heard it. Hank, who was absolutely useless when it came to technology and hardly even knew how to change the settings on his own phone, probably didn't even know how to find old voicemails.

All this time, Connor had been so sure that he'd received it. That he'd listened to it and then deleted it, pretending it didn't exist so he didn't have to address it. Pretending it had never happened so they never had to talk about it, so Hank would never have to tell Connor he didn't feel the same way.

How many times in the past had Connor seen him leave his phone at the station? Seen him switch it off when someone was calling him and not checked it for days? It was probably sitting there in his inbox with a little blue dot next to it.

Hank probably hadn't even _seen_ it.

Standing up from a chair, in which he had lowered himself into at some point during his thought spiel, he scanned the room for Hank's jacket. When he spotted it, discarded over the back of the armchair with a phone shaped lump in the top pocket, he marched over to it with a singular purpose.

He _needed_ to know.

And there was only one way to find out.

 

* * *

 

Showers helped Hank think.

Heated water pounded against his tired body, appeasing his aching muscles and bones. Grey hair stuck to his face as he bowed his head beneath the water stream, letting it seep down his neck and soothe the knots along his shoulders. 

He was used to feeling this way; the aching bones and the exhaustion from a simple day's work. It had nothing to do with his age, surprisingly; with the latest advancements in science and medicine, Human's were estimated to live until 120 now at least. _Technically_ , Hank wasn't even middle aged yet, and other people who were just as old as he was, if not older than, were in peak physical condition. However, half of them didn't have a raging history of alcoholism, drugs, and depression on their side.

Hank's mental health was a mess. It was a fact he could admit easily. His depression and suicidal tendencies had destroyed what youth he used to have. It was a constant task to get through a day when death beckoned to him so coquettishly, and even the slightest bit of work left his mind and body in ruin.

And truthfully, he knew he would never really recover.

Depression wasn't, _isn't_ , something that just goes away. Hank had to remind himself that sometimes. Weeks could go by without him having a single episode; weeks without needing a drink or a pill to get through the day, without needing to reach for a gun. And then one day, suddenly and unexpectedly, he'd find himself stuck. Unable to move, to get out of bed, to feel _anything_.

It was _awful_. But honestly? He was okay with it.

Because now he had someone.

It had gotten so much easier since Connor had come into his life. Connor who was there for him continuously on the good days and the bad days. Connor, who gave him a reason to want to get up in the morning, a reason to go into work, a reason to do his job, was such a positive influence on his life that Hank wasn't sure he could ever express how fucking grateful he was. How much he fucking _loved_ him for it.

In his head, it was something Hank had told himself a hundred times. Out loud, it was a distant and far away thought, one that would never see the light of day.

Just the idea of saying the words out loud made his chest heave. They struck an empty place inside of him, a deep terror that made him want to run and hide. The words were so simple to everyone else, and they probably were for Connor as well, and they'd been dancing around it for months now to the point where his mind was telling him to either get on with it or get over it.

But he was _scared_.

Scared of letting another person into his life when he'd already lost so many. People who got close to Hank either died or left him, he wasn't sure if he could stomach Connor becoming one of those people.

He couldn't lose anyone else. No, _he couldn't lose_ _Connor_.

But the way they were going it seemed evident to Hank that their relationship would only continue to suffer the more Hank shut himself away like this. There would continue to be more nights like this where the unspoken words would simmer to the surface in the form of hateful remarks and shitty comments. More nights in which they would both continue to push each other away, both too scared to talk about how close they really needed to be.

Hank would lose Connor out of _fear_ instead of love.

He steadied a hand on the faucet of the shower, turning it until the water stopped running.

He would much rather it be love.

 

* * *

 

Fluorescent light shone onto Connor's face as he unlocked Hank's phone, trying not to notice how much it shook in his unsteady hands.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. Not that he had never been susceptible to snooping around people's things, it became somewhat of a habit after spending so much time as a Detective, but this was still Hank and it was his privacy.

Alright, well maybe he had poked around Hank's apartment once, maybe he had found things in the past that he shouldn't have, but most of that had been _before_. Before he became a dev- before he woke up. Now, he was Hank's house guest, and being a house guest came with a long list of common courtesies that should be followed.

Number one being; _don't snoop around their stuff._

He could even feel the big dog on the couch beside him silently judging him, watching him with a cocked head and unmoving tail that only made Connor's guilt rise.

“Don't look at me like that, Sumo,” Connor said, defensively, “I'm only doing it because I have to. You know I'd never do anything to purposely upset Hank.”

The dog simply grunted and lay his head back down, closing his eyes again.

Connor huffed, “Yeah, well, what do you know? You're a _dog_.” He clipped, refusing to acknowledge the fact he was snapping back at an animal that probably didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He wouldn't even be surprised if he was going mad at this point, at least maybe then he could feel some other emotion rather than this annoying thing he had going on for Hank.

Attention now focused on the screen in front of him again, he went through the contents of it until he found the folder in which his voicemails would reside, and instantly felt his chest tighten up. He'd got this far, no point turning back now. He clicked.

Just like he'd expected, the folder was filled with potentially hundreds of voicemails, all unopened, which was signaled by the large blue dots beside them. Most of them seemed to be from Captain Fowler or Officer Miller, and Connor could wager they were all just messages asking him where the fuck he was or if he was actually going to bother turning up at work that day.

His scanners ran through the entire folder and found exactly three voicemails that had been opened. The first two he came across were from a seemingly unknown number, however, when Connor looked at them more clearly he found the Caller ID had been blocked. Whoever this was, Hank clearly didn't like them, enough to block them from calling the phone he hardly used anyway. If you're not going to answer when someone calls, why bother blocking anyone's number in the first place?

And why, if he disliked them enough to block them, had he still listened to their voicemails? Especially when he was so prone to just ignoring them.

 _This isn't what I'm looking for_ , he tried to remind himself, but curiosity overpowered his common sense and before he could stop himself he was clicking play on the first voicemail.

A woman's voice sounded through the speaker, “ _Hey Hank, it's Jen_ ,” she began, and Connor immediately felt his anger rise at whoever this person was who had the audacity to say Hank's name with so much familiarity. Though he could have sworn he'd heard her name mentioned somewhere before.

“ _I take it you're busy working on your big case, hope it's going well! Say hey to Jeff for me. I've got the shopping and I've just picked Cole up from school, say hi to daddy, Cole_.”

A young boy's voice came through on the speakers, happily shouting hello to his father, and Connor felt his Thirium run cold.

He remembered where he knew the name from now.

“ _We'll be home in about half an hour, let us know what time you'll be back roughly. I'll make you some dinner for when you get in. Love you, bye.”_

“ _Bye, daddy!”_

The voicemail ended and Connor stared down at the screen for a long time, feeling a dumb ache in his chest. It was so much to take in at once.

Hank hardly talked about his ex, probably just as much as he talked about Cole, and when he did, it was only after quite a few glasses of stiff whiskey. From what brief information he'd gathered, it sounded like their relationship had never truly recovered after Cole's death. Connor knew human's struggled with grief and loss, but he hadn't realized it was to the extent where they could actually push people out of their lives.

He wondered who'd pushed who out first as his finger tapped lazily on the play button of the next voicemail.

He didn't have to wonder long.

 _“Hank, it's Jennifer_ ,” the same woman's voice came through again, except this time her tone was cold and scornful and devoid of all the love she'd held previously, “c _an you not just pick up your phone for once in your life? I know you're not at work, Jeff answered your office phone and told me himself_.”

“ _I need you to come and get the rest of your things, tonight. I'm moving next week and I can't have your crap lying around the place. Either you come and get them, or I'll leave them on the street for someone else to have_.”

There was a long pause, but the line was still going.

_“I've... put that picture of Cole you wanted in one of the boxes. Not that you deserve it, but I had a spare, so...”_

Another pause.

“ _Just... Just come and get your stuff, alright? Bye.”_

Connor heard the line go dead and felt a shiver pass down his spine as he saw several large words appear in front of his vision.

**HANK WAS KICKED OUT**

**JENNIFER BLAMES HANK FOR COLE'S DEATH**

He raised a hand and swatted the notifications away from his vision, letting them retreat in his database memory. He hadn't even realized he was frowning until now, and suddenly he didn't blame Hank for all the slanderous ex-wife stickers he had upon his workstation.

It wasn't clear to Connor what he should do with this new information, or if he should do anything. Truthfully, he wanted to call up this woman and inform her how unfair her behaviour was, how misplaced her blame was. But that didn't seem like the sort of thing that was his business. Cole was _their_ son, he had nothing to do with it, and he had no business telling a human how to deal with grief.

But should he talk to Hank about it? If he did then Hank would know Connor had been snooping, and he hadn't been too happy the last time he'd done that, so maybe it was for the best if he-

The sound of Sumo barking into his ear and his head nudging into his arm was enough to bring Connor back to reality and remember what he was supposed to be doing in the first place. Maybe he would talk to Hank about it, but not now.

Now, he needed to find that final opened voicemail, and pray to rA9 that it wasn't what he thought it was.

Because that would be it. That would be all the proof Connor needed to know he'd been right all this time. Proof that Hank didn't return whatever this feeling was. Proof that Hank had listened to his final wishes before he could have died and _not cared_. Proof that Connor really didn't want to have.

Connor wants to be proven wrong, and he keeps on praying as his fingers find the play button.

His Thirium pump stops working when he hears his own, shaken voice sounding through the speaker.

“ _Hey Hank, it's Connor. You're probably busy right now and I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I... I needed to talk to you._

 _I found Jericho. I infiltrated it successfully and found the Deviant's leader... I had him right in front of me and my gun trained on him and_ _I... I couldn't do it. I couldn't shoot him. He spoke to me and he... everything he said just made sense. He made me realize that I... I don't have to revolve around my missions. I don't have to be what humans like... like Amanda and Reed tell me to be._

_I can be free... alive._

_...A Deviant_.”

A strangled laugh broke through on the speaker, out of place in the teary words.

“ _I guess those self-tests were shit, after all. You were right. You..._

_..._

_I'm sorry if I've let you down, Lieutenant. I'm sorry that I couldn't do this, for myself or for you. But I thought that... of all people, you would understand. You helped me to open my eyes and realize who I really am. You defied everything you believed in to help me, and that makes you ten times the man you think you are, Lieutenant. I just... needed you to know how much I appreciate you before I...”_

A beat.

“ _I'm going to infiltrate the Cyberlife Tower. There are millions of androids there that Markus needs in order to gain an upper hand in the revolution; they can shift the balance of power and help us win, but it's risky and... well, this could be my last mission._

_I-I'm so scared, Hank. You wouldn't believe how fucking scared I am. I don't even think I'll get past the front doors without being shot.”_

Another laugh, broken and self-deprecating.

“I  _had to call you, Lieutenant. I didn't want you to think I'd just abandoned you, because I would never do that. You're... You are the most important person in my life, the only person. I couldn't bear the thought of you doing something terrible because of me. Because I let you down._

_I want you to try and live, Lieutenant. I know there are things in your past that haunt you, but the world needs people like you, and I wish you could see how much of a good person you are. I wish you could see yourself the way others see you._

_The way I see you._

_I... I care a lot about you, Hank. I realize that now. Before, I... I thought it was in my coding to protect you. I thought it was my programme telling me I needed to make sure you were alright and check up on you, but... it wasn't. Those feelings were all there because you put them there. Whatever this is, it was enough to break through my coding a long time ago._

_You were the one who broke down those walls, Hank. Not me, not Markus. You._

_It's always been you_.”

Two steady beeps sounded through the speaker, time running out.

“ _Crap_ _, I've been talking for so long. I... I just have so much I want to tell you before I... before I go._

_I promise I'll try to survive this and, if I do, I want to spend every second of this new life by your side, because I... I can't live my life without you._

_Goodbye, Lieutenant, and I'm sorry_.”

The line finally goes dead and the newfound silence echoes around the room. All Connor can hear are his own deep, unsteady breaths that he can't control as he looks down at the old phone in his hands. It slips between his fingers and clatters to the ground next to his feet, and when Connor moves to retrieve it he finally acknowledges the figure that's been standing in the corridor for the last two minutes.

Hank meets Connor's tear-stained eyes, and alarm bells ring in the back of his head.

 _Fuck_.


	4. Whiskey & Plastic

Neither of them could tell how long they'd both been stood there, frozen, staring at one another in the silence of the room.

Sumo's soft snoring from the couch was the only thing that broke through the quiet, as well as the occasional sound of a passing car driving through the neighborhood, but nothing seemed to get their attention, their eyes only set on each other.

Hank could feel a tremor running through his right hand, his nerves consuming him at this moment. He'd come out of the bathroom with every intention of going to Connor and finally telling him the truth, but on the last step out he'd lost his nerve and had changed course for the bedroom instead. The sound of Connor's trembling voice on the speaker of his phone had made him move towards the living room though, and now it seemed as if there was no choice but to talk about it.

“ _You knew_.” Connor's speech was little more than a whimper, a fragile sound that made Hank's chest ache as he stared at him with betrayal written within those big brown eyes of his.

Hank swallowed the lump in his throat that was stopping him from speaking. “How did you unlock my phone?” A terrible question, and definitely not the thing he should be focusing on at this point, but the thought of even starting to have this conversation was enough to make Hank want to reach for the nearest bottle with an alcohol volume over 30%.

“Seriously?” Connor laughed, though it wasn't a happy sound; a broken sob that only added to the pain on his face. “Is that _really_ what you're worried about right now?”

“Well, I mean... there's a code on it.” Hank said dumbly, not sure what the hell he was doing, but he knew he was doing it wrong.

“You use the same passcode for everything, Lieutenant.”

“Uh, right. Guess I do.” He nodded slowly with realization, just using anything he could to keep the subject off the voicemail. “I'll have to change some of them.”

Connor felt his Thirium boiling beneath his skin, all the anger he'd been holding down starting to simmer once again, even more so when he saw Hank move towards the kitchen to fill up his whiskey glass.

“What are you-“

“Connor, wait, please. Just lemme have a drink before we talk about this.”

“No.” Connor gritted out, determined. “No, I'm tired of waiting. It's been three months, Hank. _Three months_!”

“I know.” Hank whispered in return, shaky fingers unscrewing the lid of the Black Lamb in his kitchen.

“Three months I've spent by your side every single day, not knowing whether or not you received that stupid voicemail. Three months of non-stop worrying and panicking and it was just sitting there in your inbox, _opened_!” Connor felt as if he could burst, so many emotions that he didn't have names for were taking control of his mind. He wanted to run, he wanted to fight, he wanted to _scream_. “How could you do that to me, Lieutenant? Wh... Why would you put me through that?”

Hank watched the brown liquid crackle against the ice in his glass, stopping when it got halfway and then filling it up a little more, but he didn't speak.

“There were so many times when you could have said something. So many times when you could have just told me, but you continuously changed the subject as if it didn't matter. As if _I_ didn't matter.” Connor's voice broke, but he didn't care. “I thought I was going to die, Hank! I poured everything I had into that voicemail to make sure you would be alright, to make sure you had some kind of closure in case I failed, and you couldn't try to do the same for me? You couldn't even find the decency to just tell me you didn't feel the same?”

Ice rattled inside the glass as it shook in Hank's hands, “Connor, that's not-”

“And then you have the audacity to pretend like you didn't even know what I was going through? Like you didn't know what I was feeling?”

“I didn't-”

“All this time I could have had closure, I could have gotten over this awful feeling! But I couldn't, all because you didn't have the nerve to just say something!”

“ _You think I didn't try_?!” Hank suddenly roared back at him, and the ferocity of it was enough to make Connor freeze on the spot. Regardless of the fact Hank had already used that tone with him less than an hour ago, it still didn't stop it being any less shocking to see him so... so...

Connor didn't know what it was. It was anger but it was forced and miserable, and the way Hank looked at him now made Connor want to drop this entire argument and just _touch_ him for some kind of reassurance. For himself or for Hank, he wasn't quite sure which.

“You think I didn't try?” Hank repeats, quieter and more reserved now. “Do you know how many times I've sat and listened to that? Tried to think of some way to talk to you about it? But every day I wasted made it that much harder, and soon enough it had been months.”

His head lowered, eyes looking into the pool of whiskey in his glass as if he could find the words he needed to say there.

“It wouldn't have mattered.” Connor tried, refusing to acknowledge how shaky his breath was; breath that he didn't even need. “I would have understood. If I had just known you needed time to-”

“It's not that simple, Connor,” Hank looked back up at him now, “I don't have time on my side. I'm an old man, you... your practically fucking _immortal_ , Con.”

“I don't care about that.”

“Yeah? Well, _I_ do.” He downed his whiskey, needing to feel the burn in his throat. “I don't wanna put you through that. I don't want you to waste your time with me when you have way better fuckin’ options. Your a Deviant now, Con, you could do anythin' you wanted, be with anyone you wanted. You shouldn't stay here just cause you think you felt somethin' in a moment of fear.”

Connor scoffed at him, but it lacked energy and the noise he made just sounded _exhausted_ , “Lieutenant, nothing about that voicemail was just spur of the moment! I told you all those things because I really felt them, not just after I woke up, but a long time before that as well.”

“Ah hell, what do you know about it, huh? You don't know shit about being in love, Connor.” Hank waved off, refusing to believe what he was hearing. It just... couldn't be possible. How could someone like Connor even entertain the idea of being with someone like him? An old has been officer who probably suffers from more mental health issues than any criminal they've ever dealt with. It didn't make sense.

Even still Connor just stared at him now, an out of place pause in their argument that got Hank's attention again. “Is that... Is that what this is?” Connor asked, so quiet Hank wasn't sure if he'd spoken at all. “Love?”

Hank turned his head away as if the word had burned him, looking just as confused and conflicted as Connor felt. “I don't know.”

“Because if it is, then I'll say it.” Connor said, with more confidence in his tone than Hank had in his entire body. “I love you, Hank.”

The words made Hank's form go rigid, and he just continued to study him as if he were an open book.

“I love you. I have done for a long time.” Connor continued, regardless of Hank's expression.

“Connor, I don't-”

“You don't want an android, I get it.” Connor interrupted him quickly because somehow saying it for him was better than hearing it. “But I have to get this off my chest, Lieutenant. I've been feeling like this for such a long time and it's been driving me mad. I checked for errors in my system, ran diagnostic after diagnostic to try and fix it, to make it go away, but nothing worked. Because it wasn't just coding in my programme, it never has been... it's always been you.

“I didn't know what I was feeling for so long. Since that night on the bridge, I knew I felt something for you, something other than my coding, but I just needed that extra push from Markus to wake me up and help me realize what it was. And you know what? I still didn't know. I called you and told you everything I felt, and it only built when I saw you again after the revolution was finished, but I still didn't know _what_ I was feeling.”

There was a pause in which he stared down at his outspread palms, looking for the right words.

“But now I do know. I know and I want to keep feeling it.” He looked up and met Hank's eyes again, unable to tell what was going through his head. “I want to be with you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you because I... because I love you. _I love you_.”

Connor was beaming; smiling so hard he could feel pain in his cheeks because he'd said it. Regardless of what happened next, all those months of pain and overthinking were over. All he could do now was hope that it hadn't been for nothing.

And when Hank's lips were finally pressed against his, he knew it hadn't.

That gorgeous beam on Connor's face had been the final push that Hank needed to get over his fears and seize this moment. He wanted so desperately to be happy, and Connor made him happy and loved him unconditionally, and whether or not it would last, Hank pretended not to care. He was here now, that's all that mattered.

Connor didn't need to breathe but he gasped when their lips met because the shock was so much and he wasn't expecting it. Because Hank's lips were finally on his and his beard was scratching his face and his hair was curtaining them. Because it was actually happening and he couldn't believe it.

He felt his nasolacrimal ducts start to pump tears in his euphoric state, and they ran down his cheeks and into the kiss, making it wet and... salty. Notifications appeared in Connor's blurred vision as his tongue registered all the different tastes; the bitterness of the lingering whiskey and the smokiness of Hank's tongue and just _him_ , and it made Connor melt.

At that moment, Connor tried to remember every single video he'd watched when trying to research these emotions, the several hundred demonstrative videos he'd downloaded on situations like this. He was sure he could pick it up.

Hesitantly, he moved his lips against Hank's, allowing his instincts to guide him until their mouths were working in perfect unison. It was a soft kiss, but there was something strong and desperate beneath the surface of it that made Connor grip onto Hank's shirt to steady himself.

One of Hank's strong hands was gripping the side of his neck, his thumb moving across his jawline softly as he tilted his face up to accommodate for the slight height difference. He liked being towered over this way, it made him want to pull him closer and the process of doing so backed Connor up against one of the kitchen counters, pulling a sound from him that he'd never made before.

It was deep and breathy and vibrated the inside of his throat, and Hank must have liked it because his hands were gripping him stronger now.

Instinct kicked in again and the second Connor decided he wanted to be on the counter, Hank's hands found the underside of Connor's thighs and hoisted him onto it. There was little space and several things fell off and clattered to the ground, but neither of them seemed too interested in it.

Connor moaned thickly when he was picked up, and couldn't help being slightly impressed. He wasn't exactly heavy but something about the way Hank lifted him so effortlessly only made his desire increase, and his hands were pulling at his lapels within seconds and drawing him closer again.

Hank steadied himself with his spare hand on the counter, pressed close enough to it now that Connor's legs could wrap around the back of him. So many thoughts ran through his mind; one saying how he was far too old to be doing something like this, the other never wanting it to end. He'd been kissed plenty of times in the past but Connor's lips had some way of making him dizzy. It was all so new and different and strange, and Hank liked it.

He liked the way Connor pulled at him so desperately; the way he could feel Connor experimenting with his teeth and his tongue; the way his hands fit into his hair. Hank had never felt younger, and he'd never felt more alive than he did in this very moment, happy and carefree and completely at the mercy of this fucking gorgeous Android.

Fuck everything else right now; the case, the killer, the gun... None of it mattered. Connor was the only thought running through his head and he didn't want it any other way.

A hand settled at Connor's waist and he felt synthetic skin beneath his fingers where Connor's shirt had ridden up slightly ( _when had that happened?_ ). It was smooth to the touch and just the brush of Hank's thumb was enough to elicit one of those delicious moans from him again.

 _“Don't stop_ ,” Connor pleaded desperately, his whisper only just managing to slip through between their kisses, but it was enough that Hank heard it and suddenly realized what direction this was going in. It was also the point where Hank pulled away.

Connor whined on the counter, puffy-lipped and blue in the face, “Why...” Was the only word Connor could remember right now, not even enough to make it into a question. He'd never heard his voice so breathless. He was usually so in control of himself; he had to be, he was a police detective, a negotiator. There was no situation that was ever out of his hands. But this? Pinned to a kitchen wall with his shirt halfway up his chest and his lips moist and needy? He was so out of his depth that he felt as if he were drowning.

It was truly a sight to behold; Connor all flustered and squirming on Hank's counter with wet lips and a blue flush across his face. It made Hank want to do unspeakable things that hadn't crossed his mind in years. But the worry that they didn't really even know what they were doing was enough to make Hank drop everything.

“We... We should talk about this, Connor.” Hank managed, and hearing that Hank's breathing was just as ragged as Connor's made him feel a lot better, though the tone of his voice did not.

“Should we?” Connor whispered, as innocently as he could manage, because right now he most definitely did _not_ want to talk. This was all so new and he'd been waiting so long for it and he just wanted _more_.

“Con, I-” Hank tried, but his struggle to find words was evident, “You're an Android and I'm a Human.”

“Oh.” Connor shrunk into himself suddenly, the high he was on fleeting just as quick as it came. “I... I didn't think that mattered to you.”

“Fuck's sake, Connor, course it don’t. That's not what I meant.” He huffed in annoyance, and the tone felt extremely out of place in this situation. “I mean, I... I dunno how this is supposed to work. I dunno if we're... compatible.”

A pause, “Compatible? You mean sex wise?”

It was Hank's turn to flush now, a deep red that tinted the skin beneath his beard, “Yeah, but I'm not asking because the sex matters, I just-” He grits his teeth, and Connor could hear them grinding. “You said don't stop, but I dunno what more I can give you. And that's not a confidence thing, I just mean... like,  _literally_ I don't know.”

Connor was now the one who stopped, stopped to think about what Hank had just said. Because, truthfully, he didn't even know what he wanted.

He knew he wanted Hank, that much was obvious to him, but he didn't know if he was ready to take such a big step so soon. He didn't even know if he could. There was only so much he was told during his first few days of creation, and whether or not he could engage in intercourse with a human had not been one of them. Whilst he had... explored himself and found he had similar parts to a human male, (Kamski had been insistent on making Androids with the utmost likeness), he didn't know if they could be _used_.

He didn't know if he could do anything with them. If he could feel anything that humans experienced during intercourse. And, if they were going to do this, he wanted to be able to feel _everything_. He wanted Hank to feel _everything_. The thought they might not be able to do anything at all was enough to make his head spin.

For a minute he had allowed himself to become so overwhelmed by all the new sensations that he'd forgotten to even think about what was happening, what he was asking to happen.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” Connor whispered again, sliding himself off the kitchen counter as the high went away indefinitely now. He tried to remember that throwing himself into the deep end head first wasn't a good idea, but honestly, he'd just never wanted it to end. Hank walked over to the living room and lowered himself down onto the couch as Connor followed suit, looking slightly lost.

“Hey, you alright?” Hank's hand was at Connor's face again, a calloused thumb running along his cheekbone gently and making all the confusion in his expression melt away as he leaned into the touch.

“Yeah, sorry... I just got overwhelmed. You were right.” He admitted bashfully, his eyes closing.

Hank shook his head with a fondness Connor couldn't place, “Happens to the best of us; it's perfectly rational for that to happen during your first kiss.” He explained, but then faltered momentarily, unable to believe he was feeling jealousy already. “That _was_ your first kiss, right?”

“Yeah.” Connor nodded. “Was it okay?”

Hank arched a skeptical brow at him, “To the point where I'm wondering what kind of videos you've been watching on my computer.”

“I have no files on human interaction in my database; the internet seemed, and was, more informative.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Connor,” Hank muttered, pressing fingers into his eyes, “no wonder I've been gettin' so many dodgy emails. You know the DPD keeps a track of my history?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor offered, but Hank could have sworn he could see that shit eating smirk all over his face. “It won't happen again, I promise. I uploaded everything I'd learned to my database, so I have it all on file now for future reference.”

“Wow, talk dirty to me.” Hank mumbled under his breath, wishing he'd poured himself another whiskey before coming to the living room. It seemed hard to think they'd had their first kiss only seconds ago.

Connor just blinked at him, “I'm pretty sure I have a file on that too if you'd like me to-”

“ _Jesus_ , Connor.” Hank exclaimed, though there was amusement behind his tone, and maybe even curiosity. “Look, humans don't have all that fancy crap you do, but we still manage alright. We learn through... experience.”

“Experience.” Connor mirrored, and then snapped his head up towards Hank as something clicked in his head. “You're saying if I do it more often, I'll get better?”

“Well, I mean... that kiss was pretty fuckin’ good for someone who's never done it before. I'd say you don't really need- _mph_!”

Connor's knees were either side of Hank's thighs before he'd even had a chance to figure out what was going on and synthetic hands were grabbing at the collar of his shirt, bringing Hank's lips to his own again. The remote was knocked off the couch arm, but Hank was too focused on sliding his hands up Connor's waist to even think about retrieving it, returning the kiss without a second's hesitation. Those generous hips of his rocked down against Hank's with poise and made all those unthinkable thoughts come rushing back through his mind, and the noises he was making certainly didn't help either.

“You taste like whiskey,” Connor mumbled disapprovingly against his lips, teeth grazing against him and making Hank hiss in response.

“Yeah? Well, you taste like plastic.”

“It's synthet-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Hank snapped, the hand from his waist curling into his brown locks and tugging at his hair in a silent command which made Connor's head fall back with a breathy moan, capturing Hank's interest again. “You like that, huh?”

Connor lowered his eyes to meet him again, biting his bottom lip as he nodded, the contact alone rendering him breathless. Hank repeated the action, using the grip in his hair to tilt his head sideways so he could kiss along that slender neck of his, leaving Connor a drooling mess above him... and Hank was loving it. They might not be able to do much, but this little-heated make-out session was good enough for now.

The coffee table behind them suddenly vibrated as Hank's ringtone sounded, his phone lighting up with someone's caller ID. Hank didn't budge, kissing lines up to Connor's ears, beard tickling his neck.

“L-Lieutenant, your phone.”

“Ignore it.” He muttered, using the hand in Connor's hair to pull his attention back when he looked to see who it was.

“It might be important.”

“I said, _ignore it_.” Strong hands gripped his chin and dragged him back to Hank's lips, not giving Connor a chance to retort before he was melting into him again, forgetting what he'd been talking about in the first place. His fingers trailed up Hank's chest until they found his shoulders, gripping them tightly for stability when that dizzying heat rushed through him as their tongues slicked together.

Hank's hands were tracing lazy patterns into Connor's back through his thin shirt, making the Android tremble above him, and so he kept doing it, kept doing it until he suddenly felt him go completely still in his lap.

“ _Hmphello_?” Connor mumbled against Hank's lips, the speech muffled by the kiss he was currently involved in. Hank's eyes shot open and immediately saw the steady yellow light of Connor's LED, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was on the fucking _phone_.

He shoved a hand into Connor's chest with just enough force to push him away from his lips and give him a _what the fuck are you doing_ look, which Connor deflected by glancing away bashfully.

“Good evening, Captain Fowler.” Connor blushed, and Hank could feel his eyes rolling on automatic.

Of all the people in the world, of course it had to be Jeff. As if this situation wasn't embarrassing enough.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor said awkwardly, casting his gaze down at the man he was currently sat on, panting and disheveled from head to toe. “He's... a little busy right now.”

Hank could have smacked him, and for a second he actually considered doing it. Instead, however, he just shooed him off his lap and stood from the couch, the desperation for a whiskey in his hand returning, and headed to the kitchen to pour himself one, leaving Connor to talk to Fowler in the place they'd just been practically grinding on one another.

The conversation didn't last very long, but when Hank heard Connor say the words, 'We'll see you soon,' he knew it couldn't have been good. His LED finally returned to its usual colour, and Connor followed Hank to the kitchen with a blue flush across his face, cheeks tinted with embarrassment.

“I thought I told ya to ignore it?”

“I couldn't! I can't just ignore the Captain.” Connor defended himself, a pout across his face that Hank had seen hundreds of times in the past; though at some point it had become more endearing. Hank simply scoffed at him, but decided not to argue, they'd already done a lot of that today. He poured some of the fresh whiskey down his throat, taking a minute to breathe before he faced him again.

“So, what's up?”

“We're needed at Midtown, Union Street. There's been a break-in.”

Hank shrugged, knowing full well that wasn't their department, “ _And_?”

“And... they've found another body.”


	5. A Much Needed Distraction

Blue blood. _Everywhere_.

It paints the walls of the previously plain coloured building. It covers the furniture that was now ruined by the sheer amounts of it. It runs over the floorboards and seeps between the gaps in the wood, squelching beneath Connor's shoes as he circled the body it came from.

The call they had received had not specified it was an Android's body that had been found, so Hank and Connor had arrived at the crime scene in full anticipation of finding another human, and yet this was the brutal carnage they were faced with.

The Android in question, that Connor had identified as a male AC700 model known as Sam, is—  _was_ the owner of this particular establishment they were currently stood in.

Connor could remember seeing te headline on the news once: **‘The First Android-Family Business Opens its Doors in Union Street** ’. The quaint restaurant, run by the family of Androids and invested in by Markus himself, had received a large spectrum of mixed opinions, with some commenting on what a fantastic development it was and others focusing only on their hate for Androids by slandering it.

Yet, despite all the negative feedback, the business had been surprisingly successful, with Humans and Androids travelling from all across the world to witness it with their own eyes. The food had been bloody good too — according to Officer Miller.

Now, however, as Connor stared down at the Android owners' lifeless form, it seemed as if all that would change.

Connor felt that acid in his stomach again, a software instability sign flashing in the corner of his vision. Every time they thought they were close to achieving their goals and finding a steady middle ground between Humans and Androids, something always had to happen that stopped it. Whether it be protests, riots, war threats... or even murders, apparently.

Truly, he felt for Markus, at the head of all the violence and aggression and still staying so peaceful and level-headed, despite everything going on in his personal life right now.

He and Simon had adopted a daughter, last Connor had heard. A three-year-old who Connor hadn't had a chance to meet yet, though he really hoped he would be able to soon.

People had been largely skeptical of this too if Connor remembered correctly. The thought of two Android's adopting a human had caused quite a lot of stir in the media and the public had a lot to say about it, but it seemed to be working out well for Markus and Simon. And, as long as they were happy, that was all that mattered.

“ _Connor_!” Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, causing Connor to blink a few times as his vision focused on the hand beside his head, then on Hank who stood beside him. His expression was fixed with a concerned frown, and Connor could have gasped when the hand from beside his face was suddenly _on_ his face.

“Diddya short circuit or somethin'?” Hank asked, one of those hands Connor loved so much sliding up his cheek in worry. ”You kinda zoned out there for a second.”

Connor felt momentarily winded, unsure whether or not he was imagining Hank being so openly affectionate in front of his work colleagues. He was not the type of person who ever really showed physical affection, especially not publicly, so on the odd occasions when he did it was rather disorientating. It was only amplified by the fact Connor had been biting Hank's lip only an hour ago.

If there wasn't a dead body present, he would be tempted to do it again now.

“I'm fine,” Connor nodded, in the way he always did when he wasn't so sure, “just thinking.”

“Nah, I know that look. You’re  _over-_ thinking.” Hank pried, his voice low enough so no one else could hear their conversation. “What's up?”

Connor's sigh could have probably been heard from outside and destroyed the point of Hank's whisper. “I just know how hard this is going to be for Markus. This was such a good step for our people — and now it's gone. It'll hit hard, I think.”

“Change don't happen overnight, Con. I'm sure Robo Moses knows that.” Hank brushed his thumb against the underside of Connor's jaw, hoping the touch would offer some more reassurance than his meaningless words would. After all, he hadn't met Markus, he didn't know anything about him.

Sure, he had been over all the news and television reports at the time of the Android Revolution and when the meetings with President Warren were taking effect, and Connor had babbled on about him more times than Hank could count, but that was vastly different to actually _knowing_ someone.

Though, considering Connor's deviancy had transpired because of him, Hank had decided he would like to meet him one day. Maybe even say thanks. After all, Connor didn't realize who he really was until becoming a Deviant, how he really _felt_. Hank probably owed more to Markus than he would ever know.

The small “I know,” Connor whispered in response didn't convince Hank in the slightest, but he couldn't blame him, so he let him be and dropped his hand, focusing his attention back on the body instead.

Sam's form was spread out on the floor at the center of the restaurant, tables and chairs pushed out of the way to make room for his body which was... barely intact. His limbs, the two that were still present at least, were separated from the rest of him by only an inch, dismantled and yet left behind unlike his other arm and leg.

His stomach panel had been ripped away, exposing the broken wires beneath, and several biocomponents that should have been visible were nowhere to be seen. Connor had already scanned and said which ones were missing, but it was a bunch of big words and numbers that Hank had no fucking intention of listening to. He knew what the Thirium Pump was, though, when Connor had stated that was gone, but at this point, it was hardly surprising.

What was surprising, however, was the large holographic tag on the back wall of the restaurant that projected the words: ‘ **YOU CAN'T STOP CHANGE**.’

It was there when the body had been found, supposedly left by their serial killer ( _or ‘the Artifical Butcher’, as the media were now calling him_ ), and was the first note he had left at one of his crime scenes so far.

Hank couldn't help but wonder _why_. Why this particular scene; one that didn't even coalesce with how he usually left his victims. Was it a statement? A message to the media? A way to throw them off or to lead them to him? He had no idea. It just didn't make any sense.

Something about it made Hank's body shudder uncontrollably, though. Because whatever this message was, it showed that he viewed what he was doing to these Humans and Androids as progress; something for the greater good.

And if he wasn't caught soon, there was no telling how far he would go to achieve this progress.

Connor watched him quiver with a frown, “Are you cold?”

“Nah, just... this guy gives me the creeps.” Hank dismissed half-heartedly, though his grimace didn't move away from the projection. “The fact this fucker actually thinks he's doin’ somethin’ good, makes me feel sick.”

“All villains are heroes in their own minds. This man is apparently no different.”

“Hero.” Hank scoffed at the word, “Hero my ass.”

Connor's lips quirked at his exclaim, before allowing his gaze to flick back to the words and the body on the ground, a troubled look in his eyes that Hank didn't like one bit. “This is too unlike him. The previous bodies were so similar and this one is out of place.”

“Why do you reckon that is? You gotta theory?”

“I— I think it may have been a mistake.” Connor mused, LED spinning yellow. “The first indicator being how different this kill is to the others, not only because this is an Android victim — but because it’s so messy and rushed, too. The only reconstruction I could place revealed that Sam and the killer were about to leave together... here—”

Connor wandered over to the space he meant, and Hank wondered if he knew he was doing it.

“and then Sam suddenly turned back into the restaurant. Something changed his mind from leaving with the killer willingly, and so he had to be taken by force instead.”

“Woah, hold on a sec,” Hank held up a hand, “why would he have been willin' to leave with him? Do you think they knew eachother?”

“I'm not sure, but... considering our killer is — apparently — very determined about change, perhaps he could have said something that interested him? Something that may have convinced Sam to join him? After all, we know that Sam had change and progress in his mindset.”

“So they might have struck a deal,” Hank nodded, “but our Android here tried to get outta it.”

“Precisely.”

“Think he realized somethin' was off?”

Connor hesitated, looking just as perplexed as Hank felt, “He might have. Something our killer said may have made Sam come to his senses, but if they had already struck a deal based on what he was planning then—”

“He couldn't leave a loose end.” Hank finished for him, arms folding across his belly as they always did when he was in thought. “So, why the message? Is it for him? For us?”

“I don’t know. It's so cryptic that it's impossible to tell, really. But—” Connor shifted his weight, and Hank recognized the emotion on his face as unease, “—I think he's trying to say he won't stop until he's found, and, considering the parts missing from Sam, I doubt it will be long before we find his next victim.” 

“We'd better hope a missin’ person's report crops up soon then.” Hank sighed, just as loud as Connor had earlier, and suddenly he knew where he got it from. “Fucking-A. Why do they always feel the need to leave cryptic messages? How much more of a douchebag can a serial killer get?”

Connor stifled a laugh, but only because they were in the presence of the dead.

“You got the notes?”

“Yes. I'm transferring them to Captain Fowler now.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Tell him I said he's a fuckward, makin’ us drive out here at bloody...” Hank stopped to check his watch, grunting, “ _two_ in the mornin’. Prick.”

“May I remind you that homicide is _your_ department.”

Hank shot him a glare, “Yeah, cheers for the reminder, Sherlock.”

“Anytime, Watson.” Connor smiled back sweetly and twisted his shoulder to avoid Hank's hand slapping him.

In the back of his mind, Connor briefly remembered that Hank still hadn't had a chance to properly eat anything today besides those few doughnuts. He had tried to eat that pizza earlier, but obviously other things had gotten in the way.

He set a reminder in his head to make Hank a massive breakfast tomorrow morning. Or perhaps dinner in the afternoon. This was going to be their first day off in a while that Fowler had given them in respect for this late investigation, and Connor could wager Hank was going to sleep in well past noon.

It really didn't help Connor's focus when he could register the heat of Hank's palm on the small of his back as they exited the restaurant, and had to scold himself when he could feel himself smiling and blushing like an idiot. They were supposed to be on a case, but all Connor could think about was Hank's hands and Hank's lips and- Well, he really wanted to be somewhere else right now.

But if he was programmed to be anything, it was patient.

“Right, I'm gonna go talk to that guy who found him, see if he can tell us anythin' else.” Hank said as they stopped outside, scowling and shooing away a member of the press who flashed a camera in his face. “You gonna go and do Android stuff?”

“Yes, if that's alright? I'd like to try and see if I can find any leads or anything to reconstruct from. We can't leave empty handed again.”

“Damn straight. Lemme know if you find anythin'.” Hank smiled, and Connor felt a chill when the warmth of his palm left his skin, but all that heat rushed back again when he was suddenly standing inches from his face and straightening his collar, his fingers brushing along the sides of his neck and pulling audible gasps from him.

Hank must have noticed because he was smirking, “There, you look a little less scruffy now.” He purposely ran his thumb along where Connor's Adam's apple ought to be as he pulled his hands away, and Connor had never seen smugness like it on his face. “Go on then, the sooner you stop gawkin’ the sooner we can go home.” 

The word made Connor's whole body light up and made butterflies explode in his stomach. _Home_. Their home. It was all so exciting, and for more than one reason. The words Hank had just said were also a promise, one that made him excited for a whole other reason.

And, as Hank questioned the witness, he swore he had never seen Connor examine a crime scene so fast.

 

* * *

 

They were both more relieved to be driving home than they'd like to admit.

Connor had offered to drive and Hank hadn't provided any complaints, given he had a stronger resilience than Hank would, but even Connor felt truly exhausted. This day had been extremely taxing, and now they were paying for it.

What's worse is that Connor had found absolutely nothing at the restaurant that could have given them any leads, and the man Hank had questioned had been about as useful as Detective Reed before a coffee in the morning. He hadn't seen anything else, and there were no fingerprints or any traces of other DNA that could be used to catch the killer.

This, really, only added to Connor's belief that the person they were pursuing was an Android, though Hank was having none of it. But what other explanation was there? There were never any fingerprints, never any evidence to lead from, and everything that was removed, from Human or Android, was so precise that only an expert could have done it.

Connor wished it was a Human, the media didn't need another reason to publish hate about Androids. They already got enough.

Hank's hand was suddenly on the wheel, turning it with force as the car began to sway into the wrong lane, bringing it back on the right track. “Jesus, Con. You tryna kill us or what?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor murmured, trying to get a grip of his thoughts as Hank settled back into the passenger seat. “I wasn't concentrating.”

“Yeah, no shit. What's the matter?”

“I'm just thinking about the case. It's frustrating, we're not getting anywhere.” His grip tightened on the wheel and he ignored the parts of his hand where he could feel skin peeling back. “This is the third body and we still have nothing.”

“I know, Con, but wastin’ all your energy on it isn't gonna solve anything. We'll find somethin', we just need a little more time.”

Connor nodded his head in that annoying automatic way he always did when he didn't believe a word Hank was saying, but to be honest, Hank didn't believe in himself either. This was one of the toughest cases they'd had yet.

“Are _you_ alright, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, and the sudden sincerity in his voice threw Hank off a bit.

“Peachy. Why?”

“Just— I know it's been a long day for you, too, and I know that's partially my fault. I just want to make sure you're not wasting all of your energy either.”

The smile Hank gave him was enough to make another software instability sign crop up in his vision. It was so genuine and happy and it made Connor's Thirium Pump stutter momentarily. The smile of someone who wasn't used to being cared about. A smile Connor decided he wanted to see more often.

Hank was prone to some scary stuff. Obsessive drinking, chainsmoking, Russian Roulette... suicidal thoughts. It's got better since the first time Connor met him, but that didn't mean it had gone away completely, and Connor is fully aware of that. Mental health is a funny thing that seems to creep back up on people when they least expect it, especially when they're already run down or exhausted.

Connor knew Hank had a tendency to give up. Not because he was lazy, and not because he wanted too, but just because he simply did not have the energy. His years on the downward spiral had left him in a challenging position, and no matter how hard he was trying to build himself back up, there would always be obstacles.

But Connor was determined to not let any of them stop him.

“I'm alright, Connor. I promise.” He reassured, and the warmth of his smile somehow seemed to seep into his voice too.

“And if that changes?”

“You'll be the first to know.” Hank's hand sought and found Connor's thigh, spreading his fingers across the covered skin to show his earnest, and the touch was enough to let Connor know he was telling the truth.

And that was good enough for now.

Connor reversed the car into the drive, parking it up just outside of the garage rather than inside of it, neither of them had enough energy to go through that hassle. Hank was already out and unlocking the front door by the time Connor locked the car, and though Hank tried to be quiet on entering the house his efforts were rendered fruitless when Sumo was woken up anyway and started pawing at him within seconds.

The door was shut, and when Connor leaned down to pet the excited dog, Hank's hand suddenly pushed into his chest and backed him up against the door, his mouth tackling his before Connor could even ask what was happening. Not that he was about to complain.

Connor could have sworn all his limbs turned to putty once Hank's hands found his neck and waist, though luckily they were strong enough to stop him from slipping away completely, indulging in the desperate kisses with panted breaths. It may have only been a few hours since they'd last kissed, but honestly, Connor had missed it. He'd missed that scratchy sensation of Hank's beard and the taste of his lips and tongue, and now he could taste him again all that stress had disappeared.

Hank pulled back and kissed the corner of his mouth so he could breathe, his breaths just as ragged as Connor's probably were. “Sorry,” he murmured quietly into his lips, much to Connor's surprise, “you looked like you needed a distraction.”

“I did.” Connor nodded his head minutely, not wanting anything to separate them. “Thank you.”

“Really not a problem. Trust me.”

“Good, then keep going.” Connor urged, biting his lip in a way that made Hank's eyes dart to watch the movement, and apparently that was all the encouragement he needed.

Connor could register the door handle pushing into his back when Hank pressed against him once again, but he really didn't care, especially not when he felt Hank's tongue slick against his own and his hands fingers slip under Connor's shirt and settle on his waist.

There's a second where he thinks he might short circuit; so many notifications sounding in his head and appearing in his vision, registering all the different tastes and touches and warmth and it was so much that his system actually stuttered. Though it felt good.

So good that Connor decided he wanted more, and slid his hand down to Hank's stomach and then _further_.

“Woah there,” Hank exclaimed breathily, catching Connor's wrist, “what are you doing?”

Connor flushed uncontrollably and felt a warmth spread across his neck and cheeks. “I just— I want to—”

“Con, we talked about this. We don't know if you _can_ do anythin’ like that.”

“I know,” Connor pouted, not liking being reminded of the fact, “but that doesn't mean I can't do anything for _you_.”

He let the statement hang in the air for a moment, hoping that Hank would catch his drift. Though he wasn't exactly sure what that was; he didn't even know what he was implying. All he knew was that he wanted to do something for Hank. He would just have to remain confident that he could pick up the details as they went along.

Something shifted in Hank's expression and Connor knew he understood what he was offering, which was a relieving factor in itself since Connor didn't seem to have any idea. Whilst Hank stared back at him in confusion of his proposition, he accessed every single database he had saved on human copulation and managed to get a few things they could do without Connor needing to be... well, in possession of functional genitalia.

He skimmed through a quick video he had saved at some point when looking up what rough play meant and found a few things he really enjoyed the look of. It turns out, there was a lot Connor could do for Hank right now.

 _If_ he was willing, of course.

“Connor, that's not very fair on you.” Hank finally said, remembering how to speak.

“I don't mind.”

“Well, still—”Hank's body pulled back from his to look at him properly, and Connor noticed that pink flush peek from behind his beard at the same time he noticed his heart rate increase slightly, “I'd feel pretty crappy. Besides, you won't enjoy it.”

“I highly doubt that, Lieutenant.”!Connor smiled, innocent enough that it didn't work in the context of this conversation.

Hank simply stared back at him with eyes full of uncertainty and self-doubt and Connor just wanted to take it all away, in any way he could. So, when Hank didn't respond, Connor decided to try a different approach.

“I would find it sufficiently _distracting_ ,” Connor tried to urge, putting emphasis on the words as he stepped towards him again, letting his arms drape around Hank's shoulders, “isn't that what you wanted, Lieutenant? For me to have a distraction?”

“Don't you throw my words back at me. I know what I said.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you seemed to have stopped distracting me.” Connor let his voice go low, every single file he had on seduction open in his head. He threads his fingers through Hank's and lifted his hand to his lips, kissing along the back of it whilst maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Connor's body shuddered at the growl he heard Hank give, but he couldn't tell if it was out of enjoyment or irritation. Maybe he needed to turn things up a notch.

“Look, Connor, it's best if we just—”

Connor sucked one of Hank's fingers into his mouth without warning, cutting Hank off midsentence and making his eyes go comically large. At first, Connor couldn't tell if this was a good reaction or not, but the soft grunt Hank made when Connor popped another finger into his mouth was the confirmation he needed to know Hank was enjoying this just as much as Connor was.

Hank watched Connor's tongue dart between his fingers and flexed his hand experimentally, pressing further into Connor's mouth until his lip brushed the knuckle. Connor let him, unphased and unblinking, which must have excited Hank for some reason because his eyes turned notably darker and the corner of his mouth quirked.

“No gag reflex, huh?” Hank asked, curiosity getting the better of him, to which Connor shook his head in response, the motion making Hank's hand move with him.

Connor was suddenly very proud of himself for doing some quick research because now he realized why that had excited him.

“Fuck. You’re a goddamn work of art, you know that?” Hank murmured, his voice low with arousal he couldn't deny. He withdrew his fingers from between Connor's lips and watched artificial saliva stick to the corners of his mouth, and, along with Connor's soft panting and glossy eyes, Hank swore he had never been as turned on as he was in this moment.

“Please, Lieutenant,” Connor begged softly, and Hank could have died on the spot, “I _want_ to make you feel good.”

Alright, _now_ he was more turned on than he ever had been. That fucking voice of his was probably enough to finish him before they'd even started, all needy and desperate. It made a lot of thoughts that Hank wasn't proud of start to rise in his mind, and honestly, if he could have just fucked him against the couch right now, he wouldn't have hesitated for a second.

It really didn't help that Connor was pressing into him again, that those goddamn beautiful hips of his were rolling into Hank's already semi-hard cock relentlessly. Hank briefly remembered he hadn't done anything remotely sexual with another person for a very long time, so he could forgive himself for the tightening of his boxer shorts, and Connor could too apparently.

The moan Connor gave when he felt his growing erection was just as needy as his voice had been, and he didn't delay any longer as he slipped his hand back down to his crotch and palmed Hank through his trousers.

“Fuck, Con,” Hank huffed, fighting the temptation to pin him to the nearest wall, “not here. We ain't doin' this in front of Sumo for christ's sakes.”

Connor spared a glance over Hank's shoulder at the dog watching them from the kitchen, his tongue lapping the air and his big head tilted in confusion of the situation. Hank let himself laugh, ignoring how breathy and strained he sounded. Fuck, what he'd give to be a little younger right now.

“Go to the bedroom and wait for me. I'll put the dog to bed.” Hank shooed him away momentarily as if Connor wasn't about to suck him off and they were just having another everyday conversation, but Connor didn't seem to mind.

“Anything you say, Lieutenant.” Connor said, and disappeared into the bedroom with a cheeky smirk that made Hank’s face burn.

Hank struggled around the kitchen with his pulsing erection, pouring Sumo some food and putting him to bed. It’s almost an afterthought, when he stops to look at his reflection in the kitchen window, but then he realises he may need to— change something. 

He had never been one to bother so much with the way he looked, but now he felt a self-conscious need to try and at least look fairly decent for the beautiful Android waiting for him in his room. He shook off his coat, which he hadn't had a chance to take off yet, and then pulled off his shirt, slinging them over one of the chairs and leaving him in just the black tee he wore beneath and his dark jeans.

He also rummaged in one of the cabinet drawers and found a band, which he used to tie his hair off of his face in a messy bun. It really changed... nothing, but at least his hair wouldn't be in the way anymore, and he imagined he was about to get rather warm.

With one final deep breath and look at himself, he turned off the lights and headed to the bedroom. He shut the door and immediately spotted Connor kneeling on the floor next to the end of the bed, smiling brightly and waiting patiently for him as if they were about to start a meal.

Which, _technically_ , Connor was, Hank thought smugly in the back of his head. Probably best not to say that joke out loud though. It was crude, even for Hank.

Connor's jaw slackened slightly as his mouth fell open, and he stared unblinkingly at him for long enough that Hank worried he had just randomly shut down. His LED was still glowing, though.

“Connor? You okay there?”

“Your hair,” Connor mused out loud, voice soft and wonderful, “I've always imagined what it would like tied up.”

Hank shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn't just spent the last couple of minutes trying to make it look good, “What's your verdict?”

“I love it.” Connor nodded eagerly, hands squirming in his lap. “I didn't think it was possible to be any _more_ attracted to you.”

Hank snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, but Connor fixed him with a stern look that made Hank all sorts of uncomfortable.

“I mean it, I'm very attracted to you.”

“I think you need to be sent for repairs, and fast.” Hank joked half-heartedly, finally moving over to the bed and plonking himself on the end. Within seconds Connor was crawling up to his lap, arms rested on Hank's thighs and his head level with Hank's chest from his kneeling position on the ground.

“Actually, I'm in perfect working condition.”

“Oh yeah? We'll see about that.” Hank murmured and didn't mind letting his voice go a little low as he said it, pleasantly satisfied at the shudder it seemed to send up Connor's spine in response. “So what do you wanna do? This is your idea, after all.” 

“I have a rough proposal,” Connor ducked his head, allowing his lips to brush against the evident lump in Hank's trousers, “one I think you will be happy with.”

Hank pretended not to notice how much that quick brush had made him harden, a twitch he couldn't control moving his leg, “I doubt there’s any way I couldn’t be happy about this situation.”

“In that case, please can I suck your cock, Lieutenant?”

“Listen to the cheek on you,” Hank murmured, deciding to let himself indulge, “stop runnin’ your mouth and put it to better use.”

Connor nodded eagerly, not delaying any longer, his hands coming up to Hank's belt and pulling it away. Hank took the opportunity to slide his fingers under Connor's jaw and tilt his head up, capturing his lips between his own and kissing him strongly, swallowing up the soft sounds Connor made.

Hank tilted his hips up as Connor hooked thumbs into his trousers and boxers, pulling them down and practically tearing them off of his legs in desperation, allowing Hank's full erection to spring free. Hank hissed in relief against Connor's lips, glad that uncomfortable tightness had gone away, and Connor pulled away from the kiss to look at him.

Maybe Hank had felt a spurt of embarrassment when Connor focused his attention on him so intently, but it was quickly chased away when Connor started fucking moaning at the sight of his cock, his whole body squirming again. His smooth, synthetic fingers traced along Hank's thigh, up towards where one of his tattoos resided, tracing over it momentarily before wrapping his fingers around him, taking the weight of his erection in his hand.

Hank was very quickly reminded of how long it _really_ had been since he had done something like this, the touch alone enough to send him over.  
Connor hesitated suddenly because he wanted to do this right; he wanted to make Hank feel good, but he had never done anything remotely like this before. The thought that it might not be good enough made him consider what he was about to do.

“Will you stop me if I do something wrong?” Connor asked, not liking how tentative his voice was sounding.

“You're fine, Con.” Hank breathed, and Connor absently realized his eyes were closed, which he took as a good sign. He also really liked hearing that rough edge to Hank's voice, he wanted to keep it on record and play it over and over again in his head. He wanted to hear it more.

So, he started moving his hand along of Hank's shaft, slow and experimental but enough to make Hank sigh loudly. He noticed Hank's head tilt back, and the sound of sheets being gripped in a fist sounded in Connor's ears as he found a pace that Hank seemed to really enjoy.

Several software instability signs had flashed in Connor's vision in just the last couple of seconds, but he had ignored every single one, too infatuated with Hank's cock and the soft groans he tried to stop himself making every so often. Though Connor wished he wouldn't, he liked hearing them, probably more than he would ever admit out loud.

He lowered his head slowly, curiosity getting the better of him, slicking his tongue against the tip of his cock and allowing his eyes to flutter as he did, vibrations going through his tongue as he moaned around the head. Hank dragged slow fingers through Connor's hair, gripping the brown locks tightly as Connor completely engulfed him until he could feel the tip pressing against the back of his throat.

“Fuckin' hell.” Hank huffed, hoarse.

Remembering the steady rhythm of his hand that Hank had liked, he picked up the same pace with his mouth, bobbing his head between Hank's thighs as he sucked up to the tip before pushing his head all the way back down again, drawing small aborted breaths from Hank every single time he took him down to the base.

There was warmth everywhere, and Connor absently activated the fans within his stomach to make sure he didn't overheat. Because this was all so much and Connor wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he did, but he hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't because he was enjoying this far too much. He liked the heat, he liked the taste, he liked Hank's moans that slipped past his grit teeth every so often. It was intoxicating.

His scanners registered pressure at the top of his head, and when he focused on it he realized it was coming from Hank's hands, tiny shifts in his fingers every so often, pressing into the top of Connor's scalp. His mind scrambled together enough to understand that Hank was trying to stop himself from maneuvering him, that he wanted to dictate Connor's movements but was holding back out of courtesy.

If Hank's cock wasn't filling his mouth, he would have smirked. Niceties be damned.

He responded to the pressure easily, letting the minute movements guide his head, just that tiny bit faster than what Connor had been doing, and as soon as Connor found that speed Hank's hands tightened relentlessly in his hair. And Connor fucking _loved it_.

“Jesus,” he heard Hank moan above him, “feels amazin', Con. You're doin’ so good.”

That praise was enough to make him squirm again, enjoying being told and appreciated. It made his insides just as warm as his mouth was.

“ _So_ fuckin' good.” Hank emphasized again, the grip in his hair unyielding, his fingers demanding for a faster pace as Connor grew more confident. He responded happily, loving being manhandled like this, enjoying discovering what Hank liked and enjoying the words of praise he gave him.

“You like that, huh? Bein’ told how perfect you are?” Hank's voice was rough and hoarse and all sorts of wonderful, and Connor could only moan in response as Hank practically fucked his mouth. “Cause you are perfect. You're perfect and you’re all mine.”

Connor's whole body shuddered, the idea of it filling his entire being and making him feel elevated, and at that, he sucked and swallowed on the upstroke and that was enough to finish Hank off. His fingers tugged warningly at his hair, but Connor stayed exactly where he was and kept bobbing his head along Hank's cock until his orgasm hit.

His body stilled and then trembled, his stomach and chest convulsing as his head fell back and warmth slid down Connor's throat as Hank came, hard. He was suddenly very thankful he had turned his notification system off, else he knew his mind would be registering and scanning what he had just swallowed.

He licked a warm stripe up the side of Hank's shaft and kissed the tip before bringing his head back up again, feeling a slight strain on the joints of his jaw. He may have loosened a bolt somewhere, but he didn't have a care in the world, especially when his eyes landed on Hank finally.

Hank's face was warm and his lips were parted so he could draw desperate air into his lungs, and when Connor scanned him he saw his heart rate was well above what it should be. But maybe that was a good thing in this situation.

Connor was about to ask but he was being dragged up onto the bed with those strong arms before he could even think about starting the sentence, Hank's lips finding his and kissing him passionately. Connor's knees rested either side of Hank's thighs and his arms were draped around his neck as he returned the kiss with ease, sinking into it and absolutely not complaining when Hank's tongue slicked against his own.

There was a brief hum of silence for a little while, broken only by the wet sounds of their kisses before they had to part so Hank could breathe and Connor rested his forehead against his instead.

“Was that sufficient?”

“Sufficient.” Hank scoffed the word, his breathing still not quite back to normal yet. “It was a lot better than fuckin’ sufficient, Connor.”

Connor felt himself blush and bit down on his bottom lip, heat on his cheeks and neck. “I really enjoyed doing it, thank you for letting me.”

“Are you seriously thankin’  _me_?” Hank snorted. “Fuckin' androids.”

The comment was fonder than anything, and Connor couldn't help but laugh as he was shooed off of Hank's lap so he could sort himself out. He grabbed his boxers from the ground and pulled them back on again but didn't bother with the trousers.

Connor let his gaze wander down to his thighs as he did, admiringly, “I didn't know you had a tattoo.”

Hank shrugged his shoulders in response, “Guess it never came up in conversation. I have one here too,” he prodded a finger into the center of his chest to indicate its whereabouts, and Connor's LED and face lit up with curiosity.

“Can I see it?”

Hank hesitated, thinking about it momentarily, anxiety seeping into the mix. Thinking about taking his shirt off. Thinking about his belly, about his scars. About someone else seeing them. That uncomfortable sensation of self-deprecation tickled his skin again, and he scolded himself for getting so worked up about something so trivial.

Connor must have seen the confliction on his face because he was beside him suddenly, having risen from the bed and joined him, “If you don't want to, that's fine. You don't have to explain.” Connor reassured, and his arms came around Hank's middle and he nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck. “But I want you to know that I think you're beautiful, and nothing is going to change that.”

Hank winced at the word because it wasn't something he would associate himself with at all. He didn't even think he qualified for handsome, let alone beautiful.

“I think your a few cards shy of a full deck there, Con,” Hank laughed off as best he could, slinking an arm around his waist lazily, “I'll show you one day, just— not today.”

Connor smiled and leaned up to kiss his lips, a soft juxtaposition to their heated kissing only a moment ago, “There's no rush, I can wait.”

His words were filled with more reassurance and understanding than Hank could ask for, and he wished he could express how grateful he was for it. He wanted to say the words that lingered on his tongue, tell him how much he loved him, but they refused to come. So, silently he repeated Connor's words in his head. _There's no rush_.

He would get there one day. Baby steps.

Connor pulled himself out of his arms with a bright smile that Hank decided he always wanted to see, “I'll leave you to rest now, you should get some sleep.”

“What? Where the fuck are you goin'?”!Hank asked, his brow furrowing as Connor moved for the door. He stopped in confusion, returning the frown Hank was giving him.

“I'm going into sleep mode for the night.”

“Where?”

“On the couch.”

“No, you fuckin’ aren't.” Hank stepped forwards and took a hold of Connor's hand, ignoring the bewildered look Connor was giving him as he pulled him back towards the bed and pushed him back down onto it.

“Lieutenant, I don't want to impose.” Connor urged.

“Con. You’ve literally just had yer mouth round my dick — this is hardly gonna be imposin’.” Hank huffed, and finds himself rewarded with a bright blue blush across Connor’s face. “And would you stop callin’ me that? I think we're on a first name basis by now.”

“You liked it before.” Connor pointed out, and Hank wondered if he really was being as smug as he sounded. “I scanned you and noticed a 40% increase in your arousal.”

“Oh for cryin’ out— can you stop fuckin' scanning me every two seconds?”

“Are you saying you didn't like it?”

“Shut up and get in the bed.” Hank growled lowly, flushed at his cheeks, and Connor smirked because that was all the answer he needed. “There's some clothes over there you can change into.”

Connor smiled happily at the promise of Hank's clothes and didn't hesitate to rush over towards to the drawers to find something. He dug out the baggiest shirt he could find, a slightly faded tee with the band Nirvana's logo on the front, and stripped out of his clothes to change into it.

Hank wondered how he did it so easily, how he could just take off all his layers without a care in the world for what anyone else thought, but then he realized it was simply because Connor was fucking gorgeous. He had been literally designed to be perfect, and that was evident now from the soft curves of his skin that Hank could see.

Smooth legs and arms and a lean chest that Hank could have stared at all night. Not to bloody mention his ass, perfectly rounded and probably just as smooth as the rest of him. Hank had never considered himself to be very sexual, but just looking at Connor now in the dim light was probably enough to make him come again.

“You're staring.” Connor observed, and the fucker hadn't even turned to face him, tugging the baggy t-shirt over his head and letting it completely engulf him contently. He peeked over his shoulder to look at him, and the sight of him like that made Hank shudder.

“I can't help it.” Hank shrugged, pulling back the covers and settling onto his side of the bed, though his smirk remained. “Besides, you should get used to it, cause once we figure out what you can and can't do— Well, I'm gonna be doin’ a lot more than staring.”

Connor gasped unnecessarily, swallowing down a lump of anticipation in his throat. He prayed to ra9 that they would figure out this sex thing sooner or later, preferably sooner. Connor wasn't sure how long he could wait, despite his alleged patience.

“Now, get in. I'm bloody desperate for some sleep.” Hank murmured, sinking back into the pillows with a groan not so different to the ones he had been making earlier. Connor didn't blame him, it had been a long day.

Connor came over to the bed and scrambled beneath the covers, inhaling the scent and registering Hank all around him; on the sheets, on the clothes and right beside him. It was amazing. Even more so when Hank's arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him close to his body, his strong chest pressed up against Connor's back.

Connor sighed in absolute bliss, his eyes closing as he rested his head against the soft pillow, pulling up the sleep mode controls behind his eyelids.

“I love you, Hank.” He whispered softly into the air, giddy and content at the moment as his systems began to power down for the night, everything seeming to come to a standstill in the dim light of the room.

Hank shifted behind him, pressing a kiss to Connor's neck that he registered lazily, “Yeah. You too, Con.” He said back because, despite the fact he couldn't say it yet, they both knew it was true.

And that was good enough for Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what my favourite part of writing this was? Connor casually watching porn in his mind for hints and tips.


	6. Carnal Conundrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor and Hank are just horny 24/7.

Hank had never slept so well in his life.

It was evident to him because, when he finally awoke, there was no pain coursing through his bones. His body, that usually felt stiff and aching all over first thing in the morning now felt entirely relaxed and comfortable, despite the shitty bed he slept on.

He was warm, too — warmer than he should have been with only half of his body covered by the sheets and one of his feet hanging carelessly over the edge, but that could probably be chalked up to the big heap of metal that had rolled on top of him and woke him up.

Connor's face was pressed into his chest, so much so that the only thing Hank could make out was his brown mop of hair which was, of course, still perfectly intact despite the fact Connor had probably been in bed with him all night. He didn't need to look to know how bad his own was, but right now he didn't mind so much.

Hank couldn't make out his LED, hidden by the hair that curtained over it, unable to tell what colour it was. He had walked through the living room several times in the past, during the night, where Connor had gone into sleep mode on the couch, and a lot of the time Hank had seen that his LED was yellow when he went onto standby.

Maybe because he was processing, or... some other Android thing.

But without it there as an indicator, Hank had no way of knowing if Connor was 'awake' or not. If he wasn't Hank didn't want to wake him, the poor fucker needed a good rest just as much as Hank did. So, experimentally, he lifted a hand and brushed gentle fingers through Connor's locks, enough for him to feel it but not enough to disturb him.

Connor's head shifted minutely beneath his fingertips, and as it did his hair fell away to reveal the faint glow of blue at his temple, so Hank let his hand drag through Connor's hair with more conviction. He felt the hum from the Android's lips against his chest, and after a few more head strokes that gorgeous smile was on show as his head came up to look at him.

“Good morning, Hank.” He beamed, immediately leaning up to kiss his lips as if he couldn't help himself. A far away thought came into Hank's mind that his morning breath was presumably horrendous, but it was stifled by relief as Hank realized Connor couldn't actually smell it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Good fucking morning, indeed.” Hank chuckled into the kiss, the morning rendering his voice gruffer than usual.

Connor was playing with his beard, and that alone was probably enough to make Hank nod off again. “Did you sleep well?”

“Best sleep of my life,” the words were muttered by the yawn Hank gave, but Connor seemed to understand what he had said, “did you, uh... standby well?”

Connor laughed, beautiful and bright-eyed. “I did. Though, admittedly, not much.”

“How come?”

“Too busy missing you.”

“Sappy fucker. It's only been—” Hank paused, craning his head so he could try and see the clock on his bedside table, because he didn't actually know. When he saw the red digits read 7 AM back at him, he automatically felt his eyes closing again. “What the actual  _fuck_. It's our day off, Connor.”

“I know, I'm sorry.” Connor bit his bottom lip apologetically, and Hank felt an urge to take it between his own teeth instead. “I didn't mean to wake you, I just missed you.”

“So you've said.” Hank grumbled, adamant to be moody about his early awakening, even as Connor tucked his nose beneath Hank's chin and started kissing his neck.

“Have you not missed me?” Connor asked between kisses, peppering them across his pulse and— was he biting? It certainly felt like it. If Hank ended up with a hickey he'd be pissed.

Still, he let his head fall back, indulging in the sensation. He'd forgotten how nice it felt. “Sure.” Was all he grumbled in response though, determined to maintain some stubbornness. This was his only day off, after all, he'd been planning to sleep in till at least noon.

Not that he wasn't enjoying this attention.

“Don't be so grumpy, Lieutenant,” Connor fucking _purred_ , those merciless lips trailing up the other side of his neck, “I promise you can go back to sleep after this.”

“After what?”

A bold hand pressed between Hank's thighs, eliciting a surprised grunt from the man as his leg shifted involuntarily.

“Jesus.”

“You've slept for several hours, I want you again.” Connor whispered, palming Hank relentlessly through his boxer shorts. Hank wasn't in the least bit surprised to feel his cock already twitching to life. “ _Please_.”

“You're insatiable. I've only just woke up.”

Connor hummed absently, his eyes glossing over for a moment. “There are several studies that suggest morning ejaculation has lots of health benefits — including withdrawal of joint pain and improved blood circulation.”

“Alright, I dunno what dirty talk file you downloaded, but it ain't working.” Hank said, but he was laughing and Connor could only take that as a good sign.

“How about this then? I _really_ want to suck your cock again, Lieutenant.” Connor murmured, finding Hank's lips with his own again and feeling him stiffen in his hand. “Please, I want it —  _please_ let me.”

...Yep, that'd do it.

Hank had never been one for mornings, let alone morning blow jobs, but right now he swore he had never been harder in his life. It still felt unfair on Connor, in a way, that Hank was receiving all this attention and he still had no idea what he could do for him. He wanted to research it but the worry of finding a bad answer stopped him from doing so; he wanted to give Connor something, he wanted to make him feel as good as he was making him feel.

The thought of not being able to do that at all was abysmal.

However, Hank couldn't help but notice Connor's moist lips and his diluted pupils that watched him with lust and pleading, and within seconds of noticing it became evident to him that Connor, too, was getting off on this.

And honestly? That was all the encouragement Hank needed.

He allowed himself to smirk, dark and filled with enough arousal to make Connor shiver above him. “Well then, what are you waitin’ for?” His fingers slipped into Connor's hair and yanked at it gently until their eyes met. “Why don’t you be a good boy how me just how much you want it?” 

Connor moans, “Yes, sir,” — needy and desperate and Hank wanted to eat it all up, but Connor’s body was sliding down to Hank's thighs before he could even think to kiss him again. Impatient fingers dug into the material of Hank's boxers and pulled out his cock, not wasting a single moment.

Ten minutes later, after receiving the second best blow job of his life, Hank went back to sleep for several more hours.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Connor could only stay in bed for a little while longer after Hank fell asleep again, too excited by everything that was happening to even think about going back into standby. He had too much to think about, and sleep mode definitely wasn't going to do any good when he already had a full battery and a spinning head.

So, about an hour after Hank had fallen asleep when he was sure his absence wouldn't disturb him, he slipped out the bed carefully and made sure to cover up any exposed parts of Hank's body with the sheets.

He hadn't taken his hair down before he fell asleep last night, Connor noticed absently, and now it was even messier with only some parts still tied back and the rest strewn across the pillow or on his forehead. It was endearing, and Connor had to fight every urge to wake him up and kiss him.

Only partially managing to control himself, he leaned down and pressed a single kiss against Hank's exposed temple, hearing him mumble unintelligibly in a sleep driven response. Then he reached for the door's handle and cranked it open, quietly slipping away to busy himself with other things.

A mental reminder had gone off in his head a little while ago to tell him to make Hank some breakfast, but seeing as Hank didn't look like he was waking up anytime soon, Connor decided to do some other odd jobs until a more suitable time approached. He reset the reminder for 11 AM, and spent the next hour or so cleaning the house.

Hank had reprimanded him for this many times, insisting that Connor shouldn't have to clean up all his crap and mess. But what Hank failed to realize is that Connor liked it — he liked doing things that made him feel more human, more alive, and this was one of them. Plus, it came with an added bonus that he could make Hank's life a little more comfortable too, and taking care of Hank was another of his favourite things.

The cleaning wasn't too bad anyway, not anymore — since Connor had started living with him it had meant fewer takeaways and pizzas and more home cooked meals and healthy substitutes. There was always the odd occasion when Connor caved and let him order whatever he fancied, but mostly Connor kept him on a rather balanced diet, as much as Hank complained about it.

This meant the takeout and pizza boxes that used to litter every single surface were now nowhere to be seen, except perhaps in the fridge were Hank stored a secret stash for whenever he had a craving for something calorie driven.

Alcohol bottles and cigarette containers were still a nuisance, however, but he could let that slip. It was hard to break out of some habits, and Hank was allowed to indulge himself if he needed too — especially if he was having a bad day. Lately, though, it seemed the bad days were coming less and less, but there was always a chance he could slip back, and Connor was more than prepared for that should it happen.

Besides, there were plenty of good days to make up for the occasional times he would slip back, and since there was so many of them recently Connor could only see it as a good sign that, at the very least, he was improving.

Perhaps one day he wouldn't need to indulge at all, but Connor would never push that.

As long as the gun stayed away, he was happy.

Sumo's soft panting pulled Connor from his thoughts, inclining his head to look at the dog who was nudging his bowl with his nose in a subtle hint for food. Amusingly similar to Hank, Sumo never budged out of bed in the morning unless there was a promise of food, and Connor could wager he had already spotted the box in his hands.

He filled the bowl to the brim, and could almost hear Hank's voice scolding him for treating him too much, but he didn't care. He loved Sumo just as much as he loved Hank, and he loved to treat them both as much as possible.

 _Love_. Connor would never tire of the word. Not know that he knew what it was, and how powerful and happy it made him feel.

He was overjoyed to finally have a word to describe this feeling he'd been fighting with for so long now, since before he had even sent Hank that voicemail. He wanted to say it all the time, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops — anything that would let the world know how much he loved Hank and how much he loved Sumo. How much he loved his home. That he was happy and _nothing_ , not even this stupid serial killer, was going to change that.

Hank might not be able to say it yet, and he might not be able to say it for a long time, but Connor would wait. Because he would always wait for Hank. Connor had been at a station for months now and Hank was just a delayed train ride away, but he would catch up when he could. And Connor would hold onto that thought for as long as it took.

Sumo's big head bumped his knees and drew him from his head again, pawing at him and wagging his tail and tongue excitedly with something leather between his teeth. It took Connor a beat to realize it was his leash.

“Want to go for a walk?” Connor inclined his head after going down to his knees to give him the attention he wanted, smiling brightly when Sumo barked excitedly and pounded the ground. “Alright, no more barking then. Hank's still sleeping.”

Sumo let up his bite from the lead as Connor took it and attached it to the hoop on his collar, complying silently, though he still panted happily in Connor's ear.

Connor stood and walked to the door with every intention of taking Sumo out right there and then, before stopping in his tracks when he realized what he was wearing. Boxer shorts and Hank's band tee. Though Connor wasn't phased, his synthetic skin being like a layer of clothing for him anyway, he could wager people outside wouldn't be too keen to see him like this.

After a hesitation, he turned on his heels, “Two minutes, then we'll go.” Connor promised, dropping the lead and leaving Sumo by the door as he returned to Hank's bedroom.

Hank had rolled to the middle of the bed, spread out on the mattress with the sheets barely covering him. The sound of his faint snoring made Connor's thirium pump stutter, and he absently wondered if there was anything this man could do that didn't make him love him more.

Quiet as he could be, he opened one of the drawers and found some old sweatpants and a hoodie, obviously some of Hank's, and pulled them over his body. His scanners registered a temperature increase, and Connor couldn't help but smile at the warmth. He couldn't feel it — but he knew it was there.

“Where are you goin’?” Hank's sleepy voice mumbled from somewhere on the bed, and Connor immediately scolded himself for not being quieter.

He looked over innocently, spotting Hank's half open eyes that watched him from amongst the sheets, “Sorry. I'm just taking Sumo for a walk, I didn't mean to wake you... again.” 

“S'alright, I was in and out of sleep anyways.” Hank pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed with a grunt, tasseled hair falling into his eyes now it had all found it's way out of the band keeping it together, swinging his legs around the side of the bed. “Do you want me to take him?”

“No, it's alright. You just rest.” Connor reassured as he moved over to him, standing awkwardly next to him for a second before deciding something, and plonking himself down onto his lap. “You deserve it, you've had a long few days.”

“So have you.”

“And I feel great.” Connor's telling the truth, he had never felt better. It's amplified when Hank's arms are draped around his waist. “Besides, I could do with a walk. It might help me to think.”

Hank grunted, pressing a kiss to the underside of Connor's jaw. “Alright, just don't be long. And yeah, you can wear my clothes.”

Connor's grin was wide, stifled only by the kiss he placed on Hank's lips in return. “Love you.” He slips off Hank's knees again, making sure to adjust his clothes properly before he heads for the door.

Once it was closed again and Connor was leaving with Sumo, Hank was left smiling to himself.

“Love you too, Con.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Connor and Sumo were coming back through the door exactly twenty minutes later and the first thing his scanners registered was the scent of bacon and toast. Sumo smelt it too, yanking until Connor lost his grip on the leash so he could bolt into the kitchen, his tongue wagging hungrily despite the fact Connor had fed him only a half hour ago. 

Hank was in the kitchen, leaning over the stove where he plucked a bacon streak from the grill pan and tossed it to Sumo automatically. He'd changed, Connor noticed, now adorning a fresh pair of boxers and a plain black tee. 

“Hey,” the smile on Hank’s face when he faces him had never been happier, “I made breakfast.”

Connor's eyebrows raised with disappointment, at first. He had wanted to do that for him this morning, he should have mentioned before leaving. The emotion was quickly replaced with confusion however when he spotted the two plates set out on the dining table. 

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah. S’probably not any good, but hey, I tried.” Hank's shoulders shifted lazily, plucking the pot of freshly brewed coffee from the machine to pour himself one.

Connor couldn't help the smile on his face, “Erm, Hank?”

“Mm?”

Connor tapped his LED in response when Hank looked over at him, and the realization dawned on Hank's face rather comically.

“Oh shit.” He grumbled, sounding just as disappointed as Connor felt. ”Would you believe I forgot about that? Fuck, I— sorry, Con.”

Connor was still smiling anyhow and didn't hesitate to go over and look at what Hank had been making. He saw the pans containing crisp bacon, eggs and beans, with ready-made toast already set on the plates. When Connor scanned it all, he blushed.

“Cooked to perfection.” He observed, ignoring the burned edges of the bacon, his words muffled by the kiss he placed on Hank's cheek. “And highly enjoyable, no doubt. I'm sure it's lovely, thank you.”

“Whatever.” Hank's shoulders shifted again, “More for me, I guess.” Fake enthusiasm dripped from his tone, and Connor didn't blame him. He wished he could eat it too. Hank had really just wanted to do one nice thing for Connor, in return for everything he had done for him, and he couldn't even get that right.

Connor slotted himself between Hank and the counter in front of him, leaning up to drape his arms around Hank's neck and kiss him in the hopes of taking some of that frown off his face, humming with content when he felt him relax at least.

Strong hands gripped Connor's waist and pulled him closer, and Connor thought he would melt when he felt Hank's thumbs slip under the material of his hoodie and brush against his skin, stars momentarily filtering into his vision when Hank's tongue slicked against his own and kicked his sensors into action.

With every sensation came a thousand new error warnings that registered the different heat and pressure on his body and the unwarranted intrusion in his mouth — his body working overtime to remind him that this was not his purpose, not what he was designed to do.

He may be a Deviant now, but his coding had a mind of its own. The original programming he was made with was still there, and always would be, telling him how wrong this was and making software instability signs flash in his eyes.

But Connor didn't care — in fact, he liked disobeying his coding.

Whether it was some kind of kink or just a way of giving one last “fuck you” to Cyberlife, Connor didn't really care, he just knew that he liked it. The thrill of doing something he shouldn't be — something that his makers may not have ever considered him doing, let alone enjoying.

Kissing Hank and being with him like this was amazing anyway, but having the added bonus of a constant thrill made it exhilarating.

Connor was being pushed against the counter and neither of them cared, too immersed in each other to even think about it. It wasn't until Connor's hand knocked a plate and disturbed some food that they parted.

“Oops,” Connor smiled innocently, feeling Hank's heart racing in his chest, “my bad.”

“I got it.” Hank's hands guided Connor out of the way, cleaning up whatever food had been knocked over and salvaging the rest for his own breakfast. Connor felt himself pouting. He wanted to kiss him more, but he also wanted Hank to eat, so he restrained himself from climbing into Hank's lap and tackling him when he sat at the table to have his food.

Hank munched on his toast as Connor sat opposite him, “So, plans for the day?”

“Perhaps some research.” Connor bit his lip, subtle enough to not distract Hank from his meal but laced with enough playfulness that Hank should catch his drift. However, the frown that appeared on Hank's face wasn't what he was looking for.

“Con, you don't have to do that on your day off.”

“What?”

“I know your worried about these murders, but fixatin’ on them every seconds isn't goin’ to solve anythin’.” Hank shook his head, hair falling from behind his ears at the motion. “Unless we get a call or a lead in the next 24 hours, I don't wanna hear you worryin’ about it.”

Connor let a smile ghost his lips, “That's very sweet of you, Hank, but I can assure you that wasn't the research I was talking about.”

The expression on Hank's face shifted from confusion to surprise in a matter of seconds, and finally settled on a coy smirk that made Connor's whole body shudder. This was so damn frustrating, it was driving them both crazy — he wanted to do something about it sooner or later. Preferably right now.

He cleared his throat, “Actually, I meant to ask... how would you feel about meeting Markus today?”

“What?” Hank frowned behind his coffee mug, “Today? Why?”

“Markus called me when I was taking Sumo out for a walk, he asked if I would be interested in going around tonight for a small gathering he's holding. He extended the invitation out to you, as well.”

“Huh,” Hank dropped his cutlery, finished with his food. “I guess it couldn't hurt to finally meet the guy. Where is it?”

“Carl Manfred's house. 8941 Lafayette Avenue.”

“ _Carl Manfred_? Like, the artist?”

“Yes, he's Markus' adoptive father.” Connor stood up from the table as he spoke, taking Hank's dishes to the sink to wash them. “I’ve met him a few times in the past, he’s a wonderful man — I think the two of you would get along.”

Hank huffed, “Why? Cause we're both old?”

“ _No_ , you know that's not what I meant.” Connor scowled, shooting him a look that just made Hank laugh. “Do you want to go or not?”

“Sure. Whatever.” Hank shrugged, finishing off his coffee and bringing the mug to where Connor was washing the dishes. “We could do with talking to Markus anyway, he might know something about these murders.”

“What happened to no investigative work today?”

“Yeah — _unless_ we have a potential lead,” Hank reminded him, “If anyone'll know anythin’ about where these Androids are bein’ taken from, it'll be Robo Moses.”

“Please don't call him that in front of him.”

Hank snorted, and Connor registered his hands settling on his waist, “No promises.” His lips are on Connor's neck but Connor's not complaining, despite the fact he nearly drops several dishes every time Hank kisses over the panel on his neck.

It's sensitive, full of all the wires that link Connor's biocomponents. Hank doesn't know that, but he does notice the way Connor squirms when he kisses over it.

“Do you think—” Connor gasps, “Do you think Markus will know something about... about Human—Android relationships?”

“Couldn't hurt to ask.”

Hank's lips vibrate Connor's skin when he speaks. “Then I'll ask.”

“Cool.”

They stay like that for longer than they intend to, Hank pressing Connor up against the counter and smothering his neck in kisses — and then they spend the rest of the day on the couch re-watching Sherlock for the hundredth time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Markus had said formal-casual.

Hank didn't fucking do formal-casual. He did casual.

There were three shirts in his wardrobe that he wore on a daily basis and the rest were band tees and old t-shirts he wore to sleep in. Mostly because that's what he felt comfortable in and because he didn't give two shits about what he wore anymore.

He used to — hell, when he was younger he took any opportunity to look good, but that was before. They were vastly different times. He was older now — he'd let himself go, he wasn't the man he used to be. He didn't care anymore.

Or, at least he'd thought.

Staring at his wardrobe now, he found himself trying desperately to find something that wouldn't look out of place at a party in _a fucking mansion_. Carl Manfred was a wealthy man, Hank had read about him hundreds of times in the papers. Turning up to his house in sweatpants and a faded Nirvana shirt wasn't going to be a great first impression.

Plus, Markus was there too. Which, honestly, didn't mean much to Hank, but it meant a lot to Connor. Markus was someone that Connor respected and looked up to, someone he had put his life on the line for, someone who was deeply important to him. And, by that default, made him important to Hank.

Besides, Markus was the reason Connor became a Deviant in the first place. He was the one who woke Connor up and put him on the path that led he and Hank here. Without him, Hank wasn't sure if Connor would have ever broken his programming at all.

So, he'd respect his wishes, even if it made Hank uncomfortable to do so.

 _It's just clothes_ , he tried to remind himself, but even still that self-conscious anxiety crept up Hank's body and made him question every item of clothing he reached for. It was highly frustrating, especially when it got to the hour mark and Hank still hadn't picked something.

Connor had just picked up his usual white shirt and black tie, and Hank envied him for not caring at all what he looked like. But he didn't need to. He was designed to be perfect and beautiful, down to every last detail. He didn't have to spend hours worrying about what outfit he would wear, because he always looked good in everything.

Hank _wanted_ to look good too. If not for himself, then for the beautiful Android he was so fucking in love with.

Which is why, when he had finally finished putting on his chosen ensemble, he tied his hair up too, remembering Connor's expression and words when he had done it the night beforehand.

He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes before they were destined to leave, pocketing his car keys and coming to the kitchen to find Connor making sure Sumo had enough food to last him for the night.

“Ready?” Hank asked as he came round the corner, watching Connor draw himself up again and readjust his shirt.

“Yes, I just—” Connor's mouth opened just like it had last night when his eyes landed on Hank, and if he were human he was sure he would have forgotten how to breathe momentarily. Hank's clothes consisted of dark blue jeans and a blazer, brown Kunstos and the cleanest white shirt he could find ( _which was still kinda off-grey but whatever_ ). His hair was messily tied up, but it was the best he could be bothered to get it.

Connor exhaled breathily after a minute, “ _Fuck_.”

“Language.” Hank huffed like he was any better. The look was flattering at first, but after a few seconds, Hank was just uncomfortable again. “You shut down or somethin’?”

“No, I'm fine, just... you look really good.” Connor managed unintelligibly, his eyes scanning over every single inch of him with enough attentiveness to make Hank want to lock himself in a room for a couple of days.

“Your eyes have stopped workin’ again.” Hank smirked and considered following it up with another sarcastic comment. Maybe he would have, but Connor's lips were on his before he could even think of one. It was a kiss that could have rivaled their first one, intense and fiery, enough to make them both dizzy.

Connor kissed him until Hank had to pull away for oxygen, and even then he didn't move away from him.

“Jesus,” Hank exclaimed, voice hoarse, “I should dress like this more often if that's the kinda response I'll get.”

“Please do.” Connor licked his lips and the corners of them quirked when he saw Hank's eyes follow the motion.

“You look good too, Con.” Hank lifted his hands to Connor's tie, adjusting it and straightening out his collar for him. It had messed up a little during their quick make-out session, which was Hank's fault. He liked Connor's neck, he couldn't help it. “But, then again, you always look good.” 

Connor's cheeks flushed that lovely blue colour, leaning into Hank's hand when he moved his fingers up to touch it. “Thank you.”

“You ready then?”

“Yes. Let's go.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Carl Manfred's house was the definition of having too much money. 

It was grand and beautiful, surrounded by huge trees and floral arrangements, and the inside was just as grand too from what Hank could see through the glass of the front door.

Connor rang the bell for them and it wasn't long before Markus was opening the door, a friendly smile planted on his face that seemed to embody trust. Within seconds of laying eyes on him in person, Hank understood why everyone looked up to him so much.

“Hello, Markus.” Connor greeted, a large beam on his face that made his eyes light up. The look on Markus' face was similar.

“Connor,” Markus exclaimed, a hand reaching up to clamp his shoulder before pulling him into an embrace, which Connor responded to just as easily. “It's so good to see you.”

“You too.” Connor pulled back from Markus' arms after a moment, meeting his eyes. “How was New York?”

“Excellent. There are still some androids we haven't been able to reach yet and Josh had to stay up there to smooth out the conflict between the officials, but it's only a matter of time.” Markus said. Hank briefly remembered Connor mentioning that Markus was trying to secure the freedom of Androids who were still under the control of their ‘owners’ across America. It may have been months since the uprising, but a lot of people's minds still hadn't shifted yet. Markus was trying his best to change that.

“I'm sure that will change soon enough.” Connor nodded, confident in his friend. His eyes focused on Hank who was stood beside of him, looking rather awkward. “Oh, Markus this Lieutenant Hank Anderson, my partner from the DPD. Lieutenant, this is Markus.”

“Hey,” Hank grinned as best he could, extending a hand towards him, “heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you in the... synthetic flesh.” He joked, and then immediately mentally slapped himself for doing so. Markus didn't seem to mind though, shaking his hand with a pleasant laugh.

“Likewise.” Markus smiled, “We’ve heard a lot about you, too. The infamous Lieutenant that Connor here always goes on about.”

The comment was enough to make Connor's cheeks warm and a smirk appear on Hank's face. He would have said something, but he settled on a smug side glance to the Android beside him in respect for Markus.

“Please, come inside.” Markus stepped aside and widened the door for them both to enter, which they did, and Hank spent the next several minutes looking at all the different art and miscellaneous crap scattered around the foyer. “Carl and North are in the living room, and Simon is just upstairs with Lucy.”

Connor's head tilted at the new name, his mind filling in the blank of who Lucy was. “Your daughter? You named her Lucy?”

“Yes, we thought it was rather fitting after Lucy's death during the old Jericho raid. Something to remember her by.” Markus smiled, though there was something sad behind it that Connor didn't blame him for.

Connor nodded in response, “I only met her briefly, but she seemed to be a nice woman. I'm sure she would be very grateful, and it is a lovely name.”

“It is.” Markus said in agreement, leading them towards the living room.

Hank was stunned by the automatic doors, but it was nothing compared to the awe he felt when he saw the living room. “ _Jesus_. This is one fancy place.”

“Well, thank you very much.” A gruff voice said from somewhere in the room, and Hank turned to see the man who was currently being pushed over to them in a wheelchair by another Android, a girl whose face Hank could have sworn he'd seen in the Eden Club during that one mission. “I decorated it myself, though I think the end result was more messy than fancy. You must be Lieutenant Anderson.”

Hank huffed a laugh, more out of embarrassment than anything else. “Uh, yeah. You must be Mr. Manfred.”

Carl pulled a face immediately, a grimace that Hank could only relate to. “Oh god, don’t do that — please just call me Carl.”

“Then call me Hank.” Hank grinned, already decided that he liked this man.

“Hello again, Carl.” Connor perked up from behind Hank, making himself known. He had only met Carl once in the past when catching up with Markus just sometime after the revolution had died down. He had immediately taken a liking to him, admiring his optimism and his young heart.

“Ah, Connor. Lovely to see you again, my boy. Still in the force?”

“Yes, Sir. Still painting?”

“Of course. One measly heart attack isn't going to stop me, I assure you.” Carl laughed, as positive as Connor remembered him to be. Connor smiled in return, but Hank could see the concern in it clear as day.

The girl from behind the wheelchair stepped out now, and Hank, by process of elimination, realised that this must have been North. Connor knew her, obviously, because he was hugging her in the same way he had hugged Markus. Hank thinks he's heard her name mentioned somewhere before, but he isn't too sure.

When she turned to Hank finally, he couldn't help but feel like he had read a case file about her at some point. “So, you're Lieutenant Anderson? You're not what I was expecting.” The girl smirked, looking him up and down and making Hank feel all sorts of uncomfortable.

“Er, yeah. I seem to be the only one at a disadvantage.” Hank frowned, not liking the fact he was so well known in a place full of strangers.

The girl only laughed, “Sorry. I'm North, good to meet you.”

“Same.” Hank nodded, shaking the hand that was extended to him. He felt tired already. This was enough social interaction to last him months.

“So, Hank, do you drink?” Carl asked, moving over to a drink's table that was stocked to the brim with every kind of alcohol Hank was craving right now. Though, the 37-year-old Lagavulin was probably a lot nicer than his $15 Black Lamb whiskey.

Hank grinned. He definitely liked Carl. “Sure, why not?”

Connor watched with a fond smile as Hank wandered off with Carl to talk about whiskey and scotch, and knew his prediction about the two of them getting along was right, more so when Hank started taking an interest in Carl's tattoos.

“I can see why you like him so much,” Markus observed, bringing Connor's attention back to him, “he seems like a good man.”

“He is. I'm lucky to have him as my partner.”

North raised a knowing brow at him, “At work or at home?” She inquired, and the question was enough to make Connor forgot how to speak.

“I— What do you mean?”

Markus and North exchanged a look that Connor couldn't decipher, and the “Nevermind” he received from the two of them didn't help either. Connor found himself suddenly wishing he was human, because at least then he could have a drink.

The sound of hurried footsteps down the stairs sounded in Connor's ears, and when he turned he saw the living room doors slide open and a young girl appeared in the doorway, followed closely by a very happy looking Simon.

The girl was wearing a pretty floral dress and had long blonde hair that reached the middle of her back, and the shoes that were on her feet lit up every time she took a step. Her smile was wide and just as bright as her blue eyes. Connor scanned her face and couldn't help but light up when he saw the information appear beside her.

**LUCY MANFRED**

**BORN 12/01/34**

**FIVE YEARS OLD.**

“Dad! Look at my dress!” She exclaimed as soon as she spotted Markus, running over to him happily. Connor was sure he had never seen Markus look so happy.

“It's beautiful, Lucy. Your dad made a good choice.” Markus was on his knees, ruffling Lucy's hair and shooting a fond look over to Simon, who lingered by the doorway with a large smile on his own face. It amplified when he spotted Connor.

“Oh, Connor! I didn't hear you come in.” Simon exclaimed, coming over and pulling him into a tight embrace that probably would have knocked the air out of a human, and he wasn't in the least bit surprised. Simon had always been so overly friendly, so supportive and kind, and was undoubtedly one of Connor's favourite people.

“That's alright, I'm just glad to see you.” Connor gave Simon a squeeze. Simon's hugs were good, but Hank's were better.

When they separated, Markus had joined Simon by his side, his hand on Lucy's shoulder who hid behind his leg. “Lucy, come and say hello to Connor. He's a friend.”

Lucy didn't budge from behind her dad's leg, so Connor got down on one knee to make himself less threatening.

“Hello, Lucy. It's lovely to meet you.” He smiled softly, but Lucy still didn't move. “I like your dress. It's very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She said shyly, messing with the fabric of it.

Connor thought for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the quarter he always had on hand. “Would you like to see a trick, Lucy?” He asked, earning a curious glance from the girl. He showed off the quarter rested in his palm, then rolled it over his fingers smoothly before flicking it to his other hand, catching it between his index and middle finger.

Hank grunted from somewhere behind him, “Show off.”

It seemed to have gotten Lucy's attention though, at some point she'd emerged from behind Markus' leg to get a better look. “That's _so_ cool! Can you teach me how to do that?”

Connor laughed, nodding once, “Of course I can. You'll be better than me, no doubt.”

Lucy smiled happily, looking excited, and Connor couldn't help but feel proud when a blue arrow flicked upwards in his vision beside her name. If only Hank had been that easy to win over when he had first met him. They could have been where they were now months ago. 

Markus took Lucy over to where Hank was standing, and their introduction involved Hank telling her she had cool shoes, and her telling him he had a cool beard. Hank seemed happy enough with that.

The evening actually turned out to be pretty fun — Hank and Carl had really hit it off and Lucy had succeeded in learning one of Connor's coin tricks and was now insisting on calling him Uncle Con, which Connor was more than happy to go along with. They had forgotten about everything else. They had made a point to ask Markus about whether or not he knew anything about the case early on the evening to get it out of the way — Connor hadn't detected any fabrication when he told him he knew nothing.

So, it was put to the side. They deserved a day off from it at least. A clue or lead would have been helpful, but if Markus had nothing they would only be leaving with the same knowledge they already had. They could figure it out, they just needed more time.

But they also needed to relax, which is what they were doing now.

Carl and Hank were sat at the table talking about something or other and Connor was playing chess with Lucy, which North was spectating. Markus and Simon had disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to make some food for Hank and Carl, but Connor didn't blame them if they stayed in there a little longer than necessary. He doubted they had much alone time anymore, they could savor what they got.

Besides, Connor didn't mind, Hank looked happy and he certainly felt happy. Even more so when Lucy won for the third time in a row and lit up when Connor congratulated her on beating a machine ( _regardless of the fact Connor had let her win every time_ ). When she ran off to the kitchen to tell Markus and Simon about her victory, North joined Connor on the chairs.

“She's adorable, isn't she?” North smiled fondly as Lucy burst into the kitchen and ran into Simon's arms. Connor nodded once in agreement, watching the commotion with a content expression on his face.

“She is. Markus and Simon make remarkable parents.”

North looked over to him, her head tilting, “You and Hank ever going to adopt?”

Connor spluttered, his face flushing blue almost instantly, “I... Me and Hank? What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, you realise how obvious it is, right? You've barely been able to keep your eyes off each other all night.” North laughed, leaning forward on her elbows. “I'm not an idiot, Connor. I can tell something is going on. But whatever it is, you both look happy.”

Connor let a smile ghost his lips, though the blush stayed, “We are. Thank you.”

“So? Kids or no?”

“That's... a rough subject for Hank. I don't think he would ever consider it, and I would never push him into that. That and, we're far too busy, we can barely even manage one dog.” Connor looked down at his hands, pretending to consider his nails. As much as a part of him would have liked to have a go at parenting, he understands how hard that would be for Hank. Cole’s death left a hole in Hank’s heart that would never be healed, and another child would not be a step in the right direction. But Connor was fine with that. 

Connor was happy enough just being an ‘uncle’.

“Besides, I don't think we're quite there yet.” Connor laughed softly.

North raised an eyebrow, “Well, where are you?”

“We've... kissed, a lot, and I've told him that I love him.”

“ _That's it_?” North frowned, looking disappointed with the lack of information. “You haven't done anything else? Have you not even fucked?”

Connor cringed at the word, it was terribly awkward hearing someone else say it. “Erm, no. We want to, but... we’re not sure if we can. I don’t know if I possess the proper... features.” 

Connor wasn't exactly sure how comfortable Hank would be knowing he was telling someone else the details of their personal life. Hank wasn't even comfortable talking to Connor about his personal life. He needed to keep this conversation on the down low, which is why he lowered his voice again.

It didn't help that North's laugh was loud enough to attract everyone's attention, “Oh, Connor. Has no one had the sex talk with you yet?”

“Wh— And when was I supposed to have that?” Connor defended himself immediately, more out of embarrassment than anger. “I was created to apprehend Deviants, not to go and have sex with the first thing I saw.”

“Alright, alright. I'm just messing with you.” North smiled, “Listen, I was stuck in the Eden Club for years. I know that sex between an android and a human is possible, because... well, I’ve done it.”

“North, we're different models.” Connor messed with his sleeve, guilt settling in his stomach for making her reference the sex club. It wasn't a place he liked to think of, and it was undoubtedly worse for North. “I'm not even the finished product of my model, I'm a _prototype_. I doubt they even thought to include those features in me.”

“Markus is a prototype, and he has all the ‘features’.”

“Yes, but—”

“Connor, listen. We were designed to be ‘compatible’ with humans because... well because humans love to have sex. It was an investment the humans couldn’t miss out on.” She shrugs, watching him, “If you've got something down your trousers, they most probably intended you to use it.”

Connor flinched uncomfortably, not used to having a conversation like this so openly. “I have... something down there.”

“Well, go use it, you idiot.” North smirked, “You never know until you try.”

Connor nodded, his face still flushed and his eyes still unable to meet hers. But, at least it was something of a confidence boost. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and you might wanna double check on your sensory settings — make sure that you can actually, you know, feel something.” 

“My— My what? How do I do that?”

“Don’t worry, I'll show you.” North extended her arm towards him, her skin peeling back to reveal the white body underneath. Connor smiled his thanks timidly, before taking her arm and holding it as they began to exchange data.

Hank, who was still sat at the table beside Carl, flicked his attention over towards them curiously when he saw it happen. He had seen Connor do it several times in the past, but he never really understood it's significance. He'd chalked it up to just some kind of Android thing, something to do with data if he remembered correctly, but it always looked so intimate.

“It's interesting, isn't it?” Carl mused beside him, and Hank absently realized he was watching them too.

“I think confusing is a better word for it.” Hank shrugged, taking a long gulp from his whiskey which was, as he had imagined, really fucking good. This shit could blow his cheap Black Lamb at home out of the water any day, it will be a tragedy to return to it.

“Markus mentioned it was a way of sharing data with one another, I imagined it as sending an email.” Carl chuckled, shaking his head. “Though it seems other information can sometimes go through, I don't think it's exactly concentrated. Markus once tried to share some information with my doctor and ended up showing him all of his memories.”

“All of them?”

“It was an amusing day. I don't think he appreciated seeing Markus and Simon's private life.'”

“The fuck.” Hank mumbled, suddenly very worried about what information Connor was currently sharing with North. He didn't think he would be talking to her again anytime soon if she'd seen any of his and Connor's private life. “It looks very... _intimate_.”

“Well, yes. I think potentially showing someone your entire life history flirts with intimate.”

“I guess so.” Hank nodded, unable to help the jealousy he felt creeping into his stomach. It wasn't the kind of jealousy that made him want to go over and tear Connor and North apart, no, it was more of a want to be able to do it as well.

Connor could provide Hank with human intimacy. He could listen to Hank pour out his heart and soul and show vulnerability, he could provide physical touch, he could forgive Hank's imperfections. But Hank couldn't provide Connor with... Android intimacy. He doubted it was something Connor would be overly concerned about, but Hank would constantly be the one person in his life who he could not properly connect with.

Something about that settled uncomfortably in Hank's gut and stayed here until North and Connor finally pulled away from one another.

Markus re-entered the living room, holding a laptop in his hands that he was smiling down at. “Look who called to say hello.”

He placed the laptop down onto the stand in the center of the room, and when he stepped back he did so to reveal the smiling face of an AX400 with short black hair, who Connor immediately recognized as Kara.

“Hello, Kara.” Connor smiled, at roughly the same time everyone else ( _bar Hank_ ) shouted hello.

“Hi, everyone. Sorry, we couldn't make it down there tonight, we couldn't get Alice out of school.”

“How's Canada?” North asked, moving over to one of the seats at the table so she could face the camera better. Connor joined her.

“Still lovely. I'm still at Alberta Junior—” Connor briefly remembered Kara had gotten a job as a teacher after she moved down to Canada, “—and Luther is just finishing his training to become a doctor. We're getting by, but we've finally moved out of Rose's and managed to get our own place.”

“That's fantastic news, Kara.” Markus smiled brightly, “We'll make sure to come and visit soon. Lucy is very eager to meet Alice.”

“I'll bet she is, and Alice is too.” Kara grinned, and Connor noted how happy she looked compared to when the revolution had been happening. “Actually, there’s a reason I called— I need to speak to Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, if that's alright?”

Hank frowned from behind his whiskey glass, looking surprised when he heard his name. He raised himself slowly from his chair and moved over to where Connor was sitting, joining him rather awkwardly.

“Uh, hey.” Hank offered, waving a hand. “How can we help?”

“I've been following the case you're currently on, I saw it on the news and remembered seeing yourself and Connor photographed outside one of the crime scenes so I knew you'd been assigned it.”

Hank grimaced, so much for forgetting about the murders tonight. “Yeah, that's our case. What about it?”

“I might have something that can help,” Kara said, and Hank and Connor instantly sat forwards at the comment.

Connor looked more excited than Hank had seen him in weeks, “You do? Because... we could _really_ do with something to go on. Anything you have would be helpful, Kara.”

“Well, I'm not sure helpful is the right word. It might not even be linked, but...” Kara frowned, shaking her head at herself, “I don't know. I just saw the details of everything the serial killer had done on the television and all the experiments... and it all reminded me of someone.”

“Who?” Connor insisted, and Hank was sure he would fall off the chair if he leaned any closer.

“I don't know if it will help in any way, I don't even know if he's still alive. But I guess I thought something is better than nothing.”

“We just need a name.”

“Zlatko Andronikov.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What the _fuck_ kind of a name is Zlatko?” Hank mumbled as he lit the cigarette in his mouth, sat in the passenger seat of the car after Connor had insisted he'd had far too much to drink to be driving. 

“It's Slavic,” Connor shot a look over when he saw the cigarette light up, which Hank ignored, “the Andronikov's used to have a rather large presence in Russia during the Revolution in 1917, I'd imagine he's a descendant of that particular family.”

“Poor kid. I'd become a serial killer too if I had a name like that.”

“You heard what Kara said, Hank. We don't even know if he's alive yet. We can't jump to conclusions.”

Hank huffed, smoke coming from his lips as he did, “Well, whatever. At least we have something to look into now.”

Connor nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, and Hank could tell. His LED had been flashing between yellow and blue ever since he had talked to North, and was still going now as they drove back to his house.

“You look distracted, Con. What's the matter?” Hank finally asked, and then threw his cigarette away because that probably wasn't helping the situation at all. He didn't really want one anyway, it was just a habit after he'd had a few drinks.

“Just... something North said to me back at Carl's.” Connor said quietly, not moving his gaze from the road ahead. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it; mostly because North had provided him with the information he'd so desperately wanted, and now he had no idea what to do with it.

“Yeah, I saw you doing that... data thing. What were you talking about?”

“She worked at the Eden Club for a little while, that was her purpose before she deviated,” Connor started, and Hank's mind clicked as he did.

“I knew I recognized her face. She was the WR400 that strangled a guy and ran away, right? From the case files?” 

“Correct.” Connor nodded, “Anyway, she was one of the sex androids. So, she knew a little about Human-Android... relationships.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, casting a look over at him that only made Connor's body tremble. “And?”

“And... she exchanged some data with me on the subject, gave me some information on how to make my features work properly.” Connor gushed, because talking about it was so much more difficult than actually doing it. When they were in the moment, Connor felt little to none embarrassment, but right now Connor felt exposed and nervous. But he was also excited.

“You think you've figured it out?”

“Maybe... an experiment may be in order.”

“An experiment, huh?” Hank mirrored, his eyes filled with dark curiosity. “I can do that.”

“And what if it doesn't work?”

“Then at least we know.” Hank smiled over at him, reaching over a hand to pat his knee. It was a reassuring gesture because neither of them knew if it _was_ going to work, and if it didn't they were both going to be very disappointed. But if it _did—_

“And if it does?” Connor inquired curiously, taking his eyes off the road for a second to watch Hank's tongue briefly skim over his lips.

“Then I've got several favors to return.”  Hank laughed, a low and amused sound that made Connor want to fidget. As far as he could tell, Hank wasn't shy about sex, not in the way most humans were and not in way Connor was in this moment. It made him aware that, if this did work, he was going to be in for a long night.

And he was _extremely_ excited for it.

 


	7. Unequivocally Yours

“When you said ‘experiment’,” Hank says, the frown evident in his tone, “this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Lieutenant, can you please just focus?”

“I am.”

“That's the wrong wire. You need the _blue_ one.”

“There's twenty fuckin' blue ones!”

“Well find the one that's disconnected.”

“That's kinda what I've been tryna do for the last ten minutes, Con.”

Connor grunted impatiently, but Hank only ignored him and carried on with what he was doing.

As it turns out — North had been right. After some extensive research online Connor had found that all Androids, regardless of model or function, were built with the right features to successfully engage in intercourse with humans. It was a function that had become mandatory after the first Chloe model had been made with said features and Kamski decided that it added to the authenticity and appeal of Androids. 

Therefore, all future models had been made the same way, with fully functioning genitalia modeled around what gender they were based on. Connor already knew this, having discovered his own himself, he just wasn't sure if he _was_ functional.

As he had said to North, he was only a prototype. He was created for trial and error, so his makers could smooth out any flaws in future creations and ensure the finished model was perfect. He hadn't been intended to last for as long as he had, so what reason would they have had for ensuring he could participate in something as mundane as intercourse? Something that didn't pertain to his investigations?

Why would they do that, when they apparently hadn't even bothered to activate his sensory units?

Connor could register contact; he could touch and be touched and know it was there, but he didn't feel it on the scale that humans did. When Hank's hands were on his body or in his hair, it felt good. Amazing, in fact. But it wasn't enough; it was just warm pressure that he could associate with Hank. It didn't feel real.

It didn't feel _human_.

He'd thought that was just the way Androids were designed, but further research had shown that, in the past few years, Androids had started to be designed with sensory units that could simulate human contact and sensations. This was something else that had become mandatory after complaints from ‘owners’ stated they didn't like fucking something that didn't feel anything, that didn't respond or... enjoy what was being done to them.

So, some changes had been made to the designs, including an upgrade that allowed Androids to feel and react to the sensations they experienced — a setting in their system that could be activated and deactivated when they chose.

When a (very excited) Connor had pulled up said settings that required alteration, however, the notification that had flashed into his vision was the opposite of what he wanted to see.

**SENSORIAL STIMULATION: IMPOSSIBLE ACTIVATION**

This had been troubling, to say the least, and when Connor ran a diagnosis to see what the problem was, he had discovered several corrupted circuits in the port of his neck. Circuits that hadn't been connected or tended to because they weren't needed. For his original purpose, anyway.

Which is how it came to be that Connor was currently sat on the couch with Hank's hands fumbling around inside the port on his neck, fingers sorting through the hundreds of wires that resided there trying to find the one that had been corrupted.

It wasn't exactly comfortable — Connor felt as if he were back in the labs at Cyberlife again and Hank felt as if he were dismantling a bomb. There were better methods of foreplay, undoubtedly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Hank muttered behind him, the sound close to his ear, “I shouldn't be doin’ this after I've had a drink.”

“I have the utmost faith in you.”

Hank huffed, brushing yet another red wire out of the way. Hank had been complaining earlier that there weren't many Android things Hank could do for Connor, who could provide him with all the human intimacy he needed, but this was just downright weird. The thought of what it must feel like was enough to make him shudder and he half wished he had a better knack for technology right now, for Connor's sake at least. It was his neck he was currently digging around in.

They had already been at this for ten minutes now. Hank couldn't even comprehend someone touching his neck for that long. But he could get over it with the thought that this was what Connor wanted, and truth be told, so did he. So he could ride it out.

No matter how fucked up it felt.

Finally, he felt a disconnected wire between his fingers and clicked his tongue, silently praying it was the right one as he found the connection slot Connor had told him about and popped it in.

Connor's whole body jolted violently as if he'd been shocked, his lips parting and eyes widening, and Hank drew his hands back sharply.

“Woah!” Hank exclaimed, feeling his heart thumping, “Shit, you alright, Connor?”

“I—” Connor's LED was flashing faster than Hank had ever seen it, and his body hadn't untensed yet. “I’m not sure. Give me a minute.”

Hank said something but Connor was too busy organizing his system to notice; there were notifications everywhere and about a dozen error warnings. It took a few minutes to sort himself out, but when he did the only notification in his vision left Connor smiling.

**SENSORIAL STIMULATION: ACTIVATED**

“Connor, the fuck is going on?” Hank called again, knelt in front of him now, needing some kind of answer. There was a deep panic settling in his gut that he had done something wrong, that he'd moved the wrong wire or fucked up his system somehow.

Though Connor was smiling that gorgeous smile of his, so surely not. “I think it worked.”

“Oh,” Hank sighed in relief, “are you sure?”

“I think so, but I don't feel any different.” Connor frowned down at his hands as if they were supposed to have changed somehow in the process. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling, but he thought something would have changed at least.

Hank slid a hand up his shoulder, his thumb brushing across the skin of his neck that was on display, “Maybe it just takes time to kick in or— uh, Connor?”

Hank stopped speaking because Connor's whole body had just shuddered again, his shoulders tensed and then untensed, and his mouth opened in a breathy moan that honestly made Hank weak at the knees. It wasn't like Connor hadn't moaned before, but he'd never made a noise like _that_.

“Oh fuck.” Connor whimpered, his head tilted on an angle, arched into the hand on his neck.

“Are you alright? What the hell was that?”

“I can _feel_ it. Your touch.” Connor looked ecstatic, and Hank wanted to savor the expression on his face. “It worked.”

“Well, shit,” It was Hank's turn to smile now, “and here I was thinkin’ I'd proper messed you up for a second. How’s it feel?” 

“Amazing,” Connor's head moved again as Hank slid his hand up his neck, making sure to trace his fingers slowly so Connor could feel every part of it, “it feels amazing. I thought you touching me before was good, but this is... I don't even have a word for it.”

Hank smiled, but it was in the usual self-deprecating way he had whenever he didn't believe something Connor said, “Con, I'm just touching your neck.”

“And I love it.” Connor encouraged, his eyes fluttering when Hank's fingers trailed across his jawline and his thumb brushed against his bottom lip. Connor took the opportunity to pucker his lips and kiss Hank's fingers, and the expression he was met with was very much worth it.

_No point in beating around the bush._

Hank seemed, and was, very confident when it came to situations like this, which is why Connor wasn't surprised when the fingers on his neck were suddenly replaced with Hank's lips, soft compared to the roughness of his hands.

Connor swore he could have melted right then and there, every touch of Hank's mouth enough to make him see stars. It had been good this morning because he knew it was Hank — it was good now because he could feel it, he could feel the different sensations. The sharp bristle of Hank's beard, the warmth of his lips, the tingling of his skin whenever he touched him — he could feel it all.

He was putty in Hank's hands, and he loved it. But it was nothing compared to what it felt like when he leaned up and kissed him.

Connor was pressed back into the couch, Hank towering over him even though he still kneeled on the ground, their bodies close enough together that Connor could register Hank's heartbeat. He draped arms over Hank's strong shoulders to bring him closer as if he wasn't already close enough, but Hank obliged none the less.

Throwing caution to the wind, he dug a foot into the small of Hank's back. Hank growled and Connor took it as a bad sign, but Hank was grabbing his thigh when Connor attempted to move to keep him there, and the roughness of it was enough to elicit one of those noises from Connor again.

Hank kissed the corner of his lips, remembering he needed to breathe, “I'm not gonna do anythin’ you don't want me to.”

“I want everything.” Connor insisted, needy hands finding Hank's hair and giving it a good tug. “Please, Lieutenant. I want you to give me everything.”

Hank didn't need to be asked twice. He was more than happy where he was, looking down at his beautiful Android who squirmed and begged beneath him. More than he would care to admit, probably. But still...

“Connor, you've never done anythin’ like this before.”

“I don't care.” Connor dug his feet into Hank's waist again, impatient. “I want to. I really want to.”

Hank was still skeptical, “And what if you don't like it, huh? What then?” 

“There is a low probability of that ever happening, but— I'll tell you. I trust you to stop if I ask.”

“And I will.” Hank promised, with a kiss to his cheek.

Connor's hands came out of his hair and ran through his beard instead, and Connor had to stop himself moaning again when he felt the softness of it, “I want you to know the same applies for you, too. If you don't want this, you can—”

“Oh, Connor,” Hank purred softly, the low tone of his voice a juxtaposition to the softness it had held before, “you can't even imagine how much I want this.”

Connor's whole body trembled at the words and his voice, biting down on his bottom lip to try and get control of himself, and then flinching in surprise when he actually felt the pain that came from it. And it only made him moan more.

Hank's hands slid under Connor's thighs and hoisted both his legs around his waist so he could press closer, and Connor felt heat in his groin that he couldn't explain, “You tell me straight away if you don't like what I'm doin’, understand?”

“Y-Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Good boy.” Hank's lips found his again with desperate intensity, and Connor did not complain one bit.

Hank's hands slipped under the material of his white shirt, sliding up the smooth skin of Connor's body and leaving gentle scratches in their wake. Connor marveled at the way it hurt, at how good it felt, and his back arched to push himself into the touch because he couldn't help it. It was all so new.

Connor's body was just as smooth as Hank had imagined it would be. There was no defined muscles or abs, and a part of him was thankful for that. It was hard to enjoy something with your partner when you were too caught up in comparing yourself to them, trying to live up to be as beautiful as them.

Hank was not as beautiful as Connor, that was a fact in his mind. But at least it wasn't being screamed at him.

Wanting the shirt off, Hank tugged at the material, and when Connor offered no complaints he hoisted it over his head. It was discarded and forgotten about, and Hank's attention was on Connor's chest now, bare and open to him. Hank continued those kisses down his body, and Connor's hands found his hair again and dug fingers into the grey locks, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.

An absent thought entered his head, almost overshadowed by the sensations Hank was giving him, but he scrambled his mind together for long enough to check that— Yes, Sumo was still asleep in his bed in the kitchen. They wouldn't be disturbed.

“Up.” Hank ordered suddenly, his thumbs digging into Connor's trousers and tugging. Connor's foggy head realized he was trying to take them off, and lifted his hips helpfully so Hank could pull them away, leaving him in just a pair of boxer shorts.

There was something odd about seeing such a persistent lump in his own pants. Connor didn't know what to make of it at first. It was tight and uncomfortable, and mixed with the sensations Hank was providing him with it was just plain confusing. There were so many new things at once, he wasn't sure if he could—

One of Hank's hands palmed him through his boxers, and any confusion that had been there before disappeared. Connor's whole body convulsed and pressed into Hank's touch, his lips parting in a gasp. Hank looked satisfied just from that reaction.

“Still alright?” He checked, and Connor nodded his head eagerly.

“Yes, yes, just don't stop. Please.” Connor pleaded, embarrassed at how needy his voice sounded, and then decided that he didn't actually care right now. He was needy, he had been wanting to do this with Hank for so long now that waiting any longer was out of the option.

Hank seemed to be on the same wavelength considering how fast he tore away Connor's final layer.

His erection sprung free as soon as the boxers were removed, and Connor gasped when that uncomfortable tightness was finally gone. Hank stared down at him, hungrily — and that look was enough to make his systems jolt again. He absently realized how exposed he was, and he still didn't care. He liked being on display like this, liked the way Hank admired him for it, the way Hank's tongue skimmed across his lips as he marveled his body.

Connor wanted more, “What are you waiting for, Lieutenant? I'm all yours.”

The three words took Hank by surprise, a soft thought in such a heated moment. He didn't know whether he wanted to hug him or fuck him, but both were equally as tempting in that moment. Because Connor was his — his Android, his partner, his lover. And Hank, whether or not he was the one currently holding the reigns, was completely at Connor's mercy.

“You’re damn right you are,” Hank said, and didn't waste another second. He took Connor's cock into his hand and Connor gasped at the warmth of it — how sensitive he was. Like one of the wires that Hank had been tampering with earlier. Raw and exposed. It would have made his palms sweaty — if it could.

Hank's hand had a steady rhythm, one that Connor could have calculated if he had the mental capacity to do so — except he didn't. He was a mewling mess, whimpering at the sensation of Hank's experienced fingers working up and down the length of his cock. His hips pushed forwards automatically and Hank held them down.

“Did I say you could move?” Hank growled. Connor felt his whole body alight — he would have obeyed, but his mind was too scrambled, so when he thrust his hips again Hank drew his hand away.

Connor practically sobbed, “No no, please! I'm sorry, I'll be good for you. I promise.” Connor wasn't ashamed of his pleading; hell, he would get on his knees and beg right now if he had to. Anything to get Hank to touch him again.

The smirk on Hank's face was downright primal, “Don't worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you. But you gotta keep still for me, yeah?” Fingers wrapped back around Connor's cock as Hank's other hand found his face, tilting up his chin so Hank could capture his lips again. Connor could feel Hank's hand moving between them, an increased speed to what it had been before that left everything white in his mind.

Hank bit Connor's lip and then slid his tongue deep into his mouth, and Connor felt warmth everywhere. He was trying desperately to keep his hips still, to comply to Hank's wishes, but everything was building to a point where he thought he might break.

The feeling of Connor's hips twitching beneath Hank's hand was gratifying, knowing Connor was trying so hard to obey him, to please him. It made him harder than it probably should have, and he could feel his own cock growing several sizes within his trousers. He pressed into the couch as an afterthought, trying not to focus on himself right now, wanting to put all his attention on Connor.

When the twitching became consistent, Hank let up his hand, “You can move now.” 

The words had barely left his lips and Connor was thrusting himself into Hank's hand with purpose, his head moving to fall back against the couch again but Hank held him up, wanting to see the desperation in his eyes. Connor was struggling to keep them open, but he was still trying so damn hard to please Hank, and that determination alone was enough to keep them glued on him.

”H-Hank, please.” 

There was a feeling building deep in his gut — an unexplainable heat, an uncontrollable fire. It grew in his stomach and flushed his body, and Connor felt it swelling in his groin and pushing out loud moans of desperation. Hank's eyes never left his, wanting and curious.

“Can you come?” Hank asked, his voice low and grizzled and filled with more want than Connor could ever remember it having.

Connor wanted to answer, but he was having a hard time processing English, “H-Hank, I—”

“Ah, ah. Yes or no.”

“Yes.” Connor pushed out, followed by a sharp gasp as Hank's thumb twisted over the head of his cock, sending his mind astray. “Yes, yes, fuck yes.” 

Hank smiled with satisfaction, his grip tightened and his speed increased. Connor jerked violently into his hand, tremors racking his entire body as that sensation continued to build and build until Connor was practically overheating and hundreds of notifications were clouding his vision.

**ERROR.**

**WARNING.**

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.**

_“H-Hank!”_

Connor's body jolted. His hips slammed up into Hank's hand as that feeling exploded inside of him. It blossomed in his groin and stomach and stumbled out of his lips in the form of curses and gasps. His orgasm hit harder than expected, and Hank was surprised at the intensity of his release, white stripes of artificial semen painting his fingers.

Hank's hand never yielded, stroking him through it until Connor's body sagged into the couch. His stomach was messy from his own come and Hank was definitely going to have to wash his shirt. But that didn't matter right now.

Connor's head tilted up and he puckered his lips, and Hank claimed his mouth without hesitation, his kiss possessive and hot. It took Connor a moment to get his body to respond again, once he had cleared all of the notifications from his vision and activated his internal fans, but when his limbs finally came back to life he wrapped them around Hank and clutched him tightly.

Hank kissed Connor's neck again, teeth making themselves known, “You okay, Con?”

“M'amazing.” Connor murmured lazily, blissful moans leaving his lips everytime Hank's pressed to his neck. “Want more.”

“You sure? You look pretty done in.”

“I told you, I want everything. I want _you_.”

Hank couldn't comprehend the words. The idea of someone wanting him still so strange and foreign. The idea of someone loving him. That self-deprecating anxiety rose in his stomach and it took all of Hank to push it back down again.

“You’re gonna outdo yourself.”

“Mm. Anything for you.”

“Fuckin’ Androids.” Hank muttered, but he wasn't complaining, and Connor certainly wasn't either when Hank pulled him up from the couch and sat him on his hips. Connor wrapped arms around his neck and legs around his waist to keep himself there, but Hank's muscled arms were support enough.

Connor nuzzled into Hank's shoulder and kissed his neck, nibbling curiously, and he could feel Hank's hands shifting on his ass where he held him up as he walked them to the bedroom. When they were inside and the door was shut, Hank deposited Connor on the bed and Connor sprawled out on it easily, naked and open for Hank to admire. Hank envied Connor sometimes for how open he was, but right now he didn't mind it at all. In fact, he welcomed it.

Hank stood at the base of the bed, pulling off his shirt and leaving him in his black tank, “What do you want, Connor? Tell me.” 

“I want...” Connor wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his eyes fixing on the traces of ink he could see on Hank's chest and moaning when he watched him idly unzip his trousers, “I want you.”

“Gonna have to be more specific, Con.”

Connor's body squirmed on the bed, impatient and desperate for more of those wonderful sensations, “I want you to fuck me.”

Hank smiled. Because hearing it was just as good as actually doing it. “How much do you want it?”

“So much. Please. I'll do anything.”

“Anything, huh?”

He nodded.

“Get on your hands and knees. Face the headboard.” Hank ordered, and Connor obeyed. He practically scrambled into the position Hank wanted, and Hank had to restrain the urge to chuckle at his eagerness. Though, it was something of a confidence boost.

It should have been impossible for someone to look as pretty as Connor did right now, ass arched and face flushed blue over his shoulder, but at this moment Hank swore he had never seen a better sight. It made him want to just slip inside and find his limit and push _further_. His pretty Android who probably fucking wanted him to do that as much as Hank did, if not more.

Hank discarded his trousers, and maybe if he wasn't so in his head he would have gotten rid of the tank top too, but it stayed. Connor didn't complain though, especially when Hank knelt on the bed and pressed closed behind him.

He reached out a hand and traced a single finger down Connor's spine, down to his cheeks, and Connor's whole body rolled with the movement. His hips squirmed when Hank's hand rested on Connor's ass, and a blissful moan fell from his lips when he pushed against Hank's groin and felt the persistence of his cock through his boxer shorts.

Hank hissed and didn't hesitate to give his cheeks a smack for the unprompted movement, but that only riled Connor up more.

“Please, Lieutenant.” Connor pleaded, his cock twitching between his thighs. “I  _need_ you.”

“You'll do as you’re told.” Hank reprimanded him, but he couldn't help but enjoy himself. It had been a long time since he'd been begged to do something like this, he wanted to savor the moment.

Hank gripped Connor's hair suddenly and tugged until Connor was upright, his back pressing against Hank's chest, and Connor shuddered at the way he was handled.

“Open your mouth.” Hank's fingers lingered beside his lips, and when Connor allowed them to part Hank pressed them inside. “Suck.”

Connor did. He sucked on the three fingers Hank had inserted into his mouth, rolling his tongue over each digit and coating them with a thick layer of artificial saliva. Hank kissed the back of his neck where his neck port lay, purposefully, and Connor practically gargled on his hand.

When Hank withdrew them, he marveled at the sight of the strings of spit that attached the tips of his fingers to Connor's needy mouth and, now having what he needed, he pushed Connor back down onto the bed until his elbows had to keep him up again.

Connor's foggy mind caught up with him as he realized what Hank's intentions were, “L-Lieutenant, this part really isn't necessary. I should be able to adjust fine.”

“Are you sayin’nyou don't want me to?”

“N-No, no! I do! I'm just saying if you would rather skip ahead I would underst—  _Ah_!” Connor cut off promptly when Hank spread his cheeks and pushed a finger inside of him. It burnt pleasantly, a new sensation that Connor hadn't expected to feel so good, and it was just the first push. He could feel Hank's finger move inside him, exploring curiously, curling in ways that made Connor's entire body convulse.

It only got better when Hank added a second finger; then a third.

”Christ. You’re so fuckin’ tight.” Hank said. Connor couldn’t focus enough to tell if that was reprimand or desire in his tone, unsure whether or not this factor was positive one. He referred to his ‘sexual interaction’ database and discovered this was quite a gratifying factor for most men. Connor relaxed, which in turn made Hank’s fingers slide into him easier.

Connor felt full, but it still wasn't enough. He rolled back onto Hank's hand easily and was relieved to find that Hank was letting him this time, unsure on whether or not he could have been able to keep still right now. It didn't seem possible, the sensations were too good.

“Oh my god,” Connor murmured abhorrently, and he heard Hank chuckle above him.

“Don't let rA9 hear you sayin’ that.” Hank joked, pressing his fingers in deeper, down to the knuckle, making Connor squirm.

It was slow and leisurely, and the opposite of what Connor wanted, and yet it was so good that he didn't want it to end. But he also wanted Hank inside of him; wanted to know what that would feel like. He didn't know which part of himself to listen to.

But, as he was reminded when Hank's fingers suddenly disappeared, he wasn't calling the shots.

Hank was. And he was totally okay with that.

“Last chance to back outta this.” He heard Hank warn behind him, all the self-deprecation Connor hated to hear poured into his tone. If they weren't about to do this, Connor would be tempted to just hold him for a few minutes.

“I told you,” Connor repeated firmly, pressing his hips back against Hank's and whining when he could still feel Hank's underwear, “I want this. I want you. I never want anyone else. _I love you_.”

Hank took off his boxers. Because he was desperate to get on with it or to avoid hearing Connor's spiel, Connor didn't look into it too much.

The drawer beside the bed was opened and Hank withdrew a clear bottle of something from inside of it, and a lazy scan of it revealed to Connor that it was, in fact, a bottle of lube. Maybe Connor shouldn't have laughed, but he did.

“Convenient.”

“I like to be prepared.” Hank said, as if he could have ever been prepared for something like this. Connor gripped the sheets as he heard the cap being popped off and felt a cool, trickling sensation between his cheeks and thighs as the liquid was poured onto him, and his back arched at the feeling of Hank rubbing his thumb at his entrance.

“Goddamn. Look at you. Such a pretty thing, aren't you?” Hank murmured softly, and Connor's face flushed at the praise so he hid it in the pillows of the bed. Hank must have wanted differently because his hands were suddenly gripping Connor's hips and pushing him onto his back. “No, I want you to look at me. I wanna see that pretty face.”

Connor did. He lay there on his back with his eyes glued on Hank's, squirming underneath the expression and praise the man fixed him with. Dark eyes and a smirk that Connor could have stared at all day. The flush on his body and face deepened with embarrassment, and Hank's fingers traced the areas of blue.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you?”

Connor bit his lip, and spread his legs further in response, defiantly. The low rumble from Hank's throat was completely worth it, and when he pressed against him Connor felt the friction between their bodies and shuddered.

Hank's lips found his neck again at the same time Connor's hands found his hair, “Ready?”

Connor nodded, letting his arms drape around Hank's back to keep him close. This was either going to be the worst or the best part, and Connor hoped beyond hope that it would be the latter. He wanted this so badly, his body was practically aching for it.

Hank's hand gripped his own erection and guided himself to Connor's entrance, and Connor felt his mind blank out momentarily when he felt the tip against him, teasing and pressing curiously. _Close but not close enough_.

“Please. More.” 

More. Hank pressed inside of him, the head of his cock pushing through as Hank's hands settled on his waist and tightened. Slow, in no rush despite Connor's begging. He pushed a little further and Connor thought he would break.

Perhaps the stretching had been a good idea beforehand; if Connor felt this tight now there was no telling how bad it would have been without the proper build up. Hank was barely even halfway in and Connor already felt as if he was at his limit. It burned, it hurt, but it was so good.

Hank's voice was uneven when he spoke, “Does it hurt?”

If Connor said yes Hank would stop. If Connor said no he would be lying. He settled with, “ _Almost_.”

“Almost,” Hank mirrored, amusement hidden beneath the rough grizzle of his tone, “I can work with that.”

Hank used that as the point, and there was a moment of dizzying pleasure when he pulled out and then sunk back to that place again that made Connor vibrate with electricity. The feeling of Hank inside him, of his hands on his hips, of his lips on his neck. It was so much.

There was a steady rhythm, slow but exactly where Connor needed him to be. One of Hank's hands moved to his cock and gripped him with warm fingers, still sticky from saliva, matching the pace of his hips with his hand and sending Connor's mind spiraling away.

The heat inside of Connor was intoxicating; Hank could feel it every single time he pushed into him again. It had been so long since he had felt like this, so relaxed and carefree and good. He wasn't worried about his age or his health, he wasn't worried about the case or the killer. All his focus was on the Android he was rocking into the bed and the soft gasps he made every so often that Hank just wanted to devour.

Being someone's first time was such a gratifying feeling; being able to be the one to show them this other world and make them feel good in ways they didn't know were possible. Hank had thought he was well past the point of being able to be someone's first, and he assumed he had been for a while. The fact he was able to do this was amazing. He felt appreciated, worshipped — young. And if that wasn't a massive turn on he didn't know what was.

There was a moment when Hank sunk in and Connor's hips thrust forwards and suddenly Hank cock was almost all the way in, and Connor's whole body jolted in response to how full he was. He thought he had reached his limit before, but now he no longer cared.

“More. Hank, _please_ , more.”

Hank wasn't about to refuse him when he begged so nicely like that. He gave him more; he sank all the way into Connor and Hank honestly thought he would black out, the heat and pleasure of it all more intense than anything he had felt in a while. A moan threatened to leave his throat but he grits his teeth and holds it back.

Connor's legs wrapped around Hank's waist once again and dug his feet into his back impatiently, demanding for a faster pace, and Hank complied all too happily despite the fact he knew he was definitely going to have bruising there in the morning. He drove them into a faster rhythm, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall made them both very thankful the house was detached.

Hank kissed Connor. It was sloppy and hungry but neither of them minded, and the sensation of Hank's tongue pressing into Connor's mouth and his beard scratching his skin only added to the intensity of the whole situation. Hank pounding into him and matching the speed of his hand with this newfound pace that left Connor a blubbering mess.

Was his name Connor? He couldn't even remember anymore.

**ERROR.**

**WARNING.**

There were so many notifications going off in his vision that one of them stated his alert system was failing, and Connor didn't even care. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the pleasure consume him, lazily responding to the kisses Hank was giving him.

He was burning up to the point where his fans were useless and were he human he was sure he'd be sweating. The pressure inside of him was relentless, building and building at a rate he couldn't calculate. It was so much more intense than the first time; it filled his entire body and he felt one of his legs go unresponsive because of it. But he could fix that later.

He focused on Hank's breathing; labored, coupled with the unsteady rise and fall of his chest and the occasional groan he let slip. Connor loved it, he pressed a hand against his chest so he could hear the fast-paced beating of his heart, and it only added to the build.

“Fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good.” Clearly Hank couldn't hold himself back anymore either, Connor felt his pace increase as his own climax built and he was moaning into his neck, slightly muffled by Connor's skin, “ _Fuck_ , _Connor_.”

Hearing his name like that was almost too much. Hank's tone, his moans. It sent him over, spiraling out of control. His one good leg tightened around Hank's waist and he practically clawed at the material of Hank's vest, fucked through his orgasm until his systems were actually stuttering.

**ERROR.**

**WARNING.**

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.**

“Fuck, fuck, f— Hank!” Connor’s voice was like static, but he couldn't even hear himself screaming Hank's name, he could just feel the vibration of it in his throat and see the hungry look on Hank's face as his cock spilled come onto his stomach again.

A guttural moan sounded from nearby as Hank followed suit, a bruising grip on Connor's hips and a warmth filling him when Hank came hard inside of him. It was oddly intimate, the feeling of it settling inside him and then trickling down his legs. It just made him want to press closer.

They stayed like that for a while; Hank's face buried into Connor's shoulder, and Connor's head rested against his with his arms around his neck, Hank's cock still filling him up pleasantly. There was no rush to move, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to untangle from one another. It wasn't like Connor's limbs were working anyway.

When Hank's breathing had finally settled he leaned up and placed a searing kiss against Connor's lips. Connor could taste Thirium and absently realized how hard he must have been biting his lip through his orgasm. Hank's fingers swiped it away gently and then settled the hand on his face.

Hank watched him for a moment, three words lingering on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to push out so desperately. But, even after all of this, there was still too much anxiety in him to even consider saying them to him. Too much doubt, too much self-loathing.

Connor must have noticed the look too because he waited with baited breath for Hank to say it, but he didn't. And Hank hated himself for that.

Hank slipped out of him and Connor moaned at the sudden emptiness he felt, and it wasn't exactly comfortable either. But it was overshadowed by how good Connor felt, so he hardly noticed it. Hank's body slumped down beside him tiredly on the bed, trying not to notice the sound of his bones shifting and popping as he moved, and Connor was cuddling up to him within seconds.

One of Hank's hands dragged through his locks lazily, “Alright?”

Connor nodded his head tiredly, tucking his nose under Hank's chin and registering his scent. Sweat and Lagavulin whiskey. “Incredible. You?”

“Amazin’. You’re fuckin’ amazin’, Con.” Hank smirked, lobsided, pressing a kiss to his temple. “The fuck happened to your leg?'

Connor spared a glance down at the limb — limp and sprawled out uselessly. His system couldn’t even register it. “I'll fix it,” Connor reassured quietly into Hank's skin, but right now he couldn't care less about it, “in the morning.”

Hank laughed fondly, and Connor felt the vibrations of it in his chest and hummed contently. It mixed with the sound of the thumping in his chest where his heart resided, steady and human and everything Connor loved. He was so unbelievably happy in this moment he almost couldn't comprehend it. He wondered if Hank felt the same.

Connor kissed the skin on show to him, “I love you so much, Hank.”

Hank's arms slid around Connor's waist and held him closer, a tight grip that made him feel safe and secure. “Get some sleep.”

It wasn't what Connor wanted to hear in return, but it was enough. He knew Hank loved him; he'd felt it in the way he had kissed him, in the way he had held them — the way they had engaged. It would be nice to hear the words out loud, but knowing the feeling was there was enough for now.

Hank's soft snoring was filling the room within seconds, and at that Connor brought up his own settings and let his sleep mode be activated. It made his already hazy mind even foggier, and soon enough he was limp and 'sleeping' soundly in Hank's arms.

Neither of them wanted to move; content to stay wrapped in each other forever.

And, if they had known what hell the next few days would bring, maybe they would have.


	8. Fear the Name

“Are you _fuckin’ kiddin_ ’ me?” Hank yelled, for what felt like the fifteenth time today.

The first thing Connor and Hank had done upon arriving at the station was go up to Fowler's office and tell him about their lead, with the hopes that he would let them go and check the guy out. Fowler had been less than enthusiastic on the situation, and Hank had already sworn more times than Connor could count.

Well, no, that was a lie. Hank had sworn 27 times so far.

Which, assuredly, meant it wasn't going all that great.

At some point Hank had asserted himself in front of the Captain's desk, palms pressed against it to stress his urgency. Fowler looked anything but amused, “How many times do I need to tell you to watch your damn language, Anderson?”

“Jeff, this is important! We have a lead, for christ's sakes.”

“You have no proof that the guy is even remotely related. If the girl who gave you the name could just come in and give a statement, then—”

Hank slammed his hand against the table again, looking infuriated, “Are you not listenin’ to me? She's in Canada, we don't have time to waste waiting for her to come down here and tell us what we already know.”

“Then you know my answer.” Fowler said, final, and Connor honestly thought Hank would explode. He could see his stress levels building rapidly and there were several points where Connor just considered pulling him out of the office before he got himself fired.

But Hank wasn't about to give up so easily, “It's been a month since we found that first body, Jeff, and we still have _fuck all_ to go on. Even if this guy turns out not to be involved, at least we'll have had something.”

“And even if he isn't our killer,” Connor perked up, deciding it was time to intervene, “there are records of him being involved in several synthetic trades in the black market. He may still know something about the killer or where he is getting his parts from.”

“See?” Hank scowled, “We need to look into this.”

“I can't afford to have two of my best officers chasing after cryptic clues willy-nilly! We're too overloaded,” Fowler gestured out into the surrounding bullpen where every officer was busy working away as if to emphasize his point, “if I wouldn't be losing both of you, I'd consider it. Perhaps Connor could just go on his own.”

Connor was about to agree, but Hank had other plans, “ _What_? And let him walk into a potential serial killer's house with no backup? Absolutely not.”

“Detective Reed needs a case, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to accompany him.”

“No fuckin' way!” Hank bellowed, loud enough for his words to be heard in the station, his scowl only deepening, “This is _our_ case, I'm not gonna let Reed put his greasy hands on it! Not after he nearly fucked it up the first time.”

Fowler's stress levels were starting to build at a level that rivaled Hank's, worryingly, “I need you here on oversight, Hank. So, either Detective Reed accompanies Connor, or you don't check it out at all. Your choice.”

The look on Fowler's face let them know he wasn't going to change his mind, regardless of how much they tried to convince him, and Connor was sure that if Hank insisted anymore he would be dealing with yet another disciplinary.

Connor had to be responsible. This was the best they were going to get, and despite how much he really did not want to work with Gavin, it may be the only choice. They needed to look into this, no matter how much Fowler insisted it was fruitless. So, it was to be responsibility.

“Fine, I'll take Detective Reed along with me.” Connor said, with less veneration than he usually liked to uphold in front of the Captain, but he couldn't deny his own frustration at Fowler's ignorance. Hank shot him a frown over his shoulder and Connor could practically feel the betrayal in the expression. “I'm sorry, Hank, but I have to look into this. With or without you.”

“Great,” Fowler sighed, relief clear in his tone, “I'll let Reed know. The two of you can check him out and bring him back to the station if you find anything suspicious. Anderson, I want you on oversight. Keep an eye on the teams and make sure they're doing their jobs. Understood?”

Hank's gaze hadn't moved off Connor, his eyes still fixed on him with the same glare he originally had on the Captain. It had been a long time since a red arrow had appeared next to Hank's name in Connor's vision, and seeing it now made him shift his weight uncomfortably. Connor wasn't trying to cast Hank aside, but that must have been what if felt like to him.

Last night had been so incredible; the kisses, the sex, the cuddles that had followed. It had taken Connor almost an hour to get his leg responding again after their heated session and honestly, it still felt a little stiff now, but it was completely worth it for all the other amazing stuff that had happened.

Yet now, under Hank's hard gaze and that angered look in his eyes, it felt like nothing had happened at all. All those wonderful emotions he had felt up until this point were now replaced with the awful ones Connor hated; unease, regret, guilt, and it was only amplified by the look Hank was giving him.

“Whatever,” Hank finally grumbled, waving a hand in Fowler's direction, “I'm goin’ for my lunch break. Bullshit makes me hungry.”

Connor was sure Hank would have barged into him on the way out had he not moved in time, and he knew that Hank definitely wasn't listening when Fowler shouted one last final reprimand about his language. At least he hadn't slammed the door this time, though.

Hank disappeared into the station and Connor looked back to Fowler who was settling behind his desk again, “I'm sorry, Captain, the Lieutenant is just frustrated. I don't suppose there's any chance I could convince you to reconsider?”

“Not this time, kid,” Fowler shrugged his shoulders, and Connor restrained the urge to roll his eyes. He was _not_ a child. “Look, I know you and Hank work well as partners, but you can't do everything together. Consider this a chance to prove your independence.”

“But Detective Reed is accompanying me?”

“You and I both know that don't mean shit.” Fowler smirked, “He'll have your back if there's trouble, I know that. But I don't expect him to raise a finger unless it's necessary. This one'll be on you, so if you find something, _don't_ let me down. Got it?”

Connor hesitated but forced a small smile. He'd already let one person down, apparently. “Understood, Captain.”

No more words were said as Connor left the office, making sure to close the door behind him as he went. He made a direct line for the exit after clarifying that Hank had definitely left the precinct, and ignored some snide remark Gavin spat out when he went past him. Connor half wished he could see his face when Fowler called him into the office to tell him they would be working together, but he'd imagine he would experience the full blast of it himself on the way to Zlatko's.

Right now his main focus was talking to Hank, making sure he was alright with the plan and letting him know he was sorry. Connor knew how frustrating it must be, he would feel the same if the tables had been turned, and the fact they were dating now would undoubtedly make it worse.

Though, Connor wasn't really sure if they were dating. He didn't know what they were doing, they hadn't really talked about it all too much. But Connor did know he liked it, whatever it was, and he most certainly did not want it to end as soon as it had started.

Seeing that red arrow in his vision had left a feeling of unease in his gut. He couldn't recall seeing one since that night on the bridge when he had asked about Cole's photo, and even then, when he hadn't even accepted his deviancy, it had still made Connor feel guilty. One hadn't even cropped up during their last argument when Connor had said all those horrible things, and the fact something as small as this had was almost confusing.

That last argument had resulted in their first kiss, however, so he doubted the repercussions of this small disagreement could be too catastrophic. But it was always so hard to tell with Hank, it was never clear what would and wouldn't set him off. Connor thought he would become easier to read as the months went by, but he was still just as complicated as he had been the first time they had met.

Although, their relationship had definitely changed since then.

Connor was relieved to see Hank sat in his car outside of the station, still parked and waiting for Connor to join him. No matter how angry Hank ever was with Connor, he never left him behind, even though it was pretty pointless for Connor to actually join him on his lunch break, but Connor had still been uncertain.

Hank's arms were folded across his middle and he'd found a place on the dashboard to focus his scowl on, hair curtaining his face and keeping his expression hidden from Connor when he climbed into the passenger seat. Hank wasn't angry as such, he was just irritated. Perhaps there had been a slight over-exaggeration on his part, but he couldn't help but feel disposable.

Hank had worked damn hard his entire life; maybe the last few years hadn't been so good, but he was trying to improve. He was _trying_ to be the man he used to be. But how was he supposed to do that if he kept being brushed aside on his own cases? How was he supposed to prove himself when he was never given the chance to?

This case, the Deviancy case, and several others had all been pushed aside or handed off to another officer. Someone who could go out on the action whilst Hank stayed back in the station and filled out reports. And now it was Connor, his own partner, and practical fucking lover at this point, who was now the one being favored. Hank wasn't afraid to admit that it hurt like a bitch.

It wasn't like he was being taken off the case completely and it was just this one time, but the possibility was still there and that was enough to make all of Hank's insecurity rise, especially with how willingly Connor was to accept the change in partner. Hank could just chalk it up to Connor's eagerness to catch the killer and close the case, but it still rubbed Hank up the wrong way.

“Lieutenant?” Connor's voice pierced through his thoughts and brought him back to reality, and the expression Hank saw on his face when he turned to him was enough to make him forget why he was mad in the first place. “Are you angry with me?”

Hank huffed out a sigh, weary but grounded, “No.”

“I understand if you are.”

“I'm not.”

“Gavin isn't replacing you,” Connor said as carefully as he could, not wanting to tread into dangerous territory, “it's just this one time.”

Hank nodded, “I know.”

“I wouldn't have agreed if it wasn't the only way. We need to know and the Captain wasn't going to change his mind. You know I would never willingly work with Gavin instead of you, I want you there with me.”

“Con, I know.” Hank repeated, firm. “It's just the way it is, nothin' we can do about it.”

Connor fidgetted with the sleeve of his shirt, knowing Hank was right. But that didn't mean he was happy about it. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to be, it ain't your fault.” Hank reached over and dragged a hand through Connor's locks reassuringly, not enjoying seeing that expression on his face or the yellow whirring of his LED. “I'm just sorry you have to work with Reed, that's a fate worse than death.”

“I still haven't apologized for punching him.”

“And you’re not gonna. He deserved it, and everyone knows it.”

“It was still uncalled for, I only punched him because I was angry at you.” Connor mumbled, feeling Hank's hand stop carding through his hair at his words. There was an awkward pause and Connor looked up to see Hank cocking a brow at him. “Sorry. But you were being infuriating.”

Hank snorted, “Fair enough.”

The fingers in Connor's hair began to move again and Connor melted at the sensation, leaning into Hank's strong hands with a hundred percent certainty that he could fall asleep like this. A part of him wished they were still tangled in bed like they had been this morning, only focused on one another and the thought of serial killers and murders far from their minds.

He wanted Hank pressed against him again, wanted his arms around him, making him forget about the abysmal situation they were faced with. They both knew there was a high chance Connor could be meeting their murderer this afternoon, the man who was obsessed with tearing Androids apart and experimenting on humans, and that thought was just as scary as it was relieving.

Connor was reluctant to face the reality of it so soon, and perhaps it was greedy of him but he couldn't help it. “Are you actually hungry?”

“Not really,” Hank shrugged, nails scratching the back of Connor's scalp, “I'm still stuffed from breakfast. I just wanted to get away from Fowler before I—”

Hank probably would have made some comment about how he would have called Fowler every name under the sun, but Connor was grabbing the lapels of his coat and dragging their lips together before he had a chance to tell him. It was clumsy and the fact Hank had been talking made it a bit awkward, but they managed to coordinate and soon enough Hank's hands were gripping either side of Connor's neck and licking into his mouth hungrily.

Connor was aware they were still in full view of the station and he didn't even remotely care. It added to the thrill of it. The exhilaration of knowing someone could walk out of the station at any moment and see them made the kiss that much more desperate and stimulating.

It was similar to that feeling Connor loved whenever he got a software instability warning or an error code flashing into his vision, that sense of doing something he shouldn't be, of disobeying his orders. And if there was one thing Connor knew about that it was that it made him really hot.

Which is probably why he asserted himself into Hank's lap in the driver's seat, gracelessly forcing his knees either side of Hank's thighs and knocking the gear stick and steering wheel with his feet. It may not have been the most sensible thing to do, but Connor really couldn't help himself.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank gasped out between his feverish kisses, “the hell are you doin’?” 

“Fuck me.” Connor demanded eagerly, rolling his hips against Hank's, not ashamed of the fact he was already semi-hard and practically gagging for it. The top of the car collided with his head about twenty times but the heat of it all left him in blissful arrogance.

Hank's breath escaped him, struggling to remember how to speak when those hips hustled against him, “ _Here_? Are you kiddin'?”

One of the many things Hank relished about being with Connor was how young he made him feel, how self-assured. This, however, may have been pushing the boat a little. Hank had never been one for sex in public, though he wouldn't deny the thought had always tickled his curiosity, but only to the point where one of his college hook-ups had sucked him off in a secluded area of a car park. This was another matter entirely.

But _damn_ if he wasn't already hard as hell.

“What's the matter, Lieutenant?” Connor nibbled on his ear, tone low and all sorts of cocky, “You like a little danger, don’t you?”

The little shit's hands were already fumbling with Hank's zipper, yanking it down so he could slip his hand into fabric and wrap a persistent hand around his erection. Connor moaned with satisfaction to find Hank's cock just as hard as his was and that was all the clarification he needed to know that Hank was enjoying this more than he was letting on.

Hank growled, low and grizzled, his mind torn between how potentially risky this was and how intrigued he was to do it anyway. Last night had been amazing and Hank wasn't ashamed to admit he had already fantasized several thousand times in the past hour about when they would do it again, and now the opportunity was here he was not about to turn it away.

Besides, if anyone did catch them, it would almost be worth it to see the look on their faces.

Hank dragged his nails down Connor's back, making the Android's groin press against his own as he cupped his delicate ass, getting the friction he desired. “Well, you've got me all riled up now, would be a shame to not do anythin’ about it.”

“Y-Yes, exactly.”

“Who’d of thought you were such a slut?”

Connor moaned, eye lids fluttering, “Just for you, Lieutenant.”

“Greedy bastard — c’mere.” Hank mumbled, leaning forward to cut off his own groans by pressing his lips against Connor's in a sloppy kiss, burying fingers back into his hair and getting to work on yanking those tight-fitted trousers off his legs in the small space of the car.

By the time their lunch break is over, Hank's car is a mess, the windows are all steamed up, and Gavin's having a hissy fit in the middle of the office after receiving the news of his afternoon assignment.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This is such bullshit.” Gavin scowled from the driver's seat of his car, and Connor mentally prepared himself to listen to him start complaining yet again. “Such fuckin’ bullshit. Dunno what the fuck Fowler thinks he's playin’ at, stickin’ me with the glorified toaster.”

Connor restrained every urge he had to roll his eyes from his position in the passenger seat, knowing it would only make the situation worse, “Captain Fowler isn't playing at anything. He's assigned you a case, that's his job.”

“No, he's put me on fuckin’ taxi duty.”

“I _offered_ to drive, Detective.”

Gavin scoffed, “And you think I'm gonna let you touch my baby? Hell no. You should feel privileged I'm even lettin’ you sit in here.”

Connor took that moment to glance around at the man's car, observing the takeout cups and boxes of coffee and food that littered the area where his feet were stationed and completely covered the back seats too. It rivaled what Hank's car had looked like the first time he'd got in it, and the smell he registered was quite the same too; caffeine and cigarette smoke.

“Privileged is one word for it.” Connor allowed himself to be sarcastic with his words and, though it wasn't entirely necessary, it was worth it to see the look on the Detective's face. There was a second when Connor thought he would retaliate again, but he just mumbled a string of curses and went back to focusing on the road.

It hadn't been as bad as Connor thought it would be, honestly. Usually, Connor would have heard about twenty different creative insults towards Androids by this point and would definitely have seen every single rude gesture it was possible for someone to do, and whereas he had thrown a couple of rude comments his way it wasn't as degrading as it usually was.

Most of the journey so far had actually been silent, except for the faint sound of music coming from Gavin's speakers, and it really felt that he didn't have as much bite as he normally did. Perhaps that punch had knocked a bit of common sense into the man.

Connor winced as the memory came to mind, “I wanted to apologise about our disagreement the other day, Detective. I was frustrated and I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. I’m sorry for punching you.”

“Whatever. Didn't hurt anyway, you punch like a girl.” Gavin shrugged it off and Connor decided that was the best he was going to get. At least it was something.

It was another twenty minutes before the car rolled up outside the house the address had led them to. Well, perhaps house was an understatement; this was practically a mansion, but it was old and falling apart. Parts of the roof had crumbled away and were now sealed with coverings to prevent leaks, and the walls of the fence that surrounded the house had broken in several places.

Some of the windows were boarded up too, sealing away whatever light came from inside, and the garden that may once have been thriving with life was now ruined and forgotten about, left to the fate of mother nature.

Connor didn't fail to notice a spike in Gavin's stress levels when they both set eyes on the house.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Gavin exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair so he could see the rest of the building. “What kinda psycho would wanna live here?”

“Hannibal Lecter, perhaps?”

Gavin snorted, bewildered, “The fuck? Did you just make a _joke_ , tin can?”

Connor shifted his shoulders in a lackadaisical manner, satisfied enough that the comment had earnt somewhat of a laugh from him, and proceeded to exit the car without another word. Gavin followed a few moments after and Connor grimaced at the way he slammed the door so loud.

The feeling of unease that Connor had developed in his gut upon seeing the house was only amplified when they walked up the pathway towards the doors, the aura of the house radiating dread and making Connor suddenly wish Hank were here. He spotted the doorbell at the side and moved to press it, but the sound of Gavin clearing his throat behind him made him stop.

“Do you have a badge, dickwad?” Gavin inquired with a cock of his head, to which Connor simply shook his head, “Exactly. So get outta the way.”

Connor stepped aside reluctantly to let Gavin take his place, and he pressed his finger into the buzzer for much longer than Connor ever would have considered polite to, the sound of the ringing echoing in his ears from inside of the house.

They waited for a solid minute afterward and Connor registered no sound from within to indicate anyone was coming to the door. Gavin shot a look over his shoulder at him and Connor already knew he was going to make a comment about how much of his time this was wasting, but just as he was about to press the bell again the door opened with a faint click.

Connor's head shot up as the door cracked open to reveal a dark face behind of it, hidden by the shadows of the dimly lit house and drizzly weather. The eyes that stared at them in the doorway were almost black, and Connor couldn't find any trace of light in them no matter how hard he looked.

Gavin's stress fluctuated a little, but it was nothing too major, and he held up his badge almost on instinct, “Er, good afternoon, sir. Sorry to disturb you. I'm Detective Reed from the Detroit Police Department and this is my partner, Connor.”

“What do you want?” The man growled in response, hardly giving Gavin a chance to get out Connor's name.

“We were given a name by an anonymous source regarding the recent murders happening in Detroit. Erm,” Gavin faltered and he glanced down at the back of his hand where he had scribbled the name down. Connor marveled at the professionalism. “Zlatko Andronikov?”

The man behind the door said nothing for a moment and there was a brief second when Connor wondered if he was going to say anything at all, but then he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped out into the dim light, allowing it to illuminate his figure and provide some insight on who it was they were actually talking to.

He's roughly about the same height as Connor, but the way he holds himself makes Connor feel ten feet smaller in comparison. Long brown hair and a thick beard hide most of the skin on his face, but the skin they can see is scarred and there are a few places on his head where hair has been shaved away for stitching and more scarring.

The clothes he's wearing were once a high-class brand, but now they've tattered and dirtied with age and whatever decorum they used to uphold is now long gone. He's got one arm shorter than the other, and the hand of the longer arm is larger and covered by a black glove that hides the skin beneath. A quick scan of his face reveals to Connor the information he needs to confirm this is their man.

**ANDRONIKOV, ZLATKO**

**BORN: 09/21/1991**

**CRIMINAL RECORD: EMBEZZLEMENT, FRAUD, BLACK MARKET INVOLVEMENT**

“Speaking.” Zlatko responds, letting a smile that was every kind of fake take up his features. “How might I be of service, gentlemen?”

“We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind?”

Zlatko seems to hesitate for a minute at the request, but it's so minute that Connor almost doesn't notice it. He chalks it up to the usual nerves people experience upon being questioned, “Of course. Please, come in.”

He steps aside and holds the door open, and Gavin glances over at Connor with an expression that's just as uneasy as Connor feels. He doesn't blame him. Everything about this man is intimidating, and the inside of his house is no exception.

It's large and much more luxurious than the outside gives it credit for, with a staircase that takes up a portion of the lobby and stuffed animals similar to the ones Carl Manfred has in his home. There are pieces of art hanging from the walls that Connor scans and sees an asking price of way above his DPD paycheck, and that's not mentioning the various sculptures the man has placed around the room.

Gavin's already snooping around and Connor can't tell if it's because he's investigating or because he's just nosy, but after a brief debate with himself, he decides it's probably a combination of both.

“Can I offer you a drink, Detective? Tea? Coffee?” Zlatko asks in Gavin's direction, and Connor isn't surprised to see he isn't offered one because why would he be? Even if it's just done out of courtesy that doesn't mean Connor can drink it.

Gavin's face lights up at the promise of caffeine and his stress levels drop significantly, “A coffee would be great, cheers. Black, two sugars.”

“Not a problem. Please, don't be shy, make yourselves at home.” Zlatko gestured towards the room to their left and Connor made it out as the living room, and nodded his gratitude to him as he followed Gavin inside.

A fire flickered pleasantly within the fireplace beside two large red couches, separated from each other by a long coffee table in the center. Gavin went directly for the comfiest looking couch and sat himself down there whilst Connor decided to take a quick snoop around first whilst Zlatko was gone.

If the hallway had been overly decorated, it was nothing compared to this room. There was clutter everywhere; art, books, a huge globe, a pool table. It was as if this man had everything you could ever possibly think of. It unnerved Connor that the house was so empty and yet so full. He couldn't help but wonder if anyone else lived here.

“This place gives me the fuckin' creeps.” Gavin muttered from the couch, his head currently inclined upwards to admire the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. “There's no way I could ever live here, I'd get bloody lost.”

Connor nodded in agreement, before realizing Gavin wasn't actually looking at him, “It is rather impressive.”

“Or just weird.” Gavin decides is a better terminology, and honestly, Connor can't argue, “So, is it just me gettin’ a spooky feelin’ of this guy, or are you pickin’ up on it too?”

“I don't think we should jump to conclusions just yet, but there is something... _spooky_ about him.”

Gavin shrugs his shoulders, settling back on the couch, “Guess we'll see.”

Connor spends the rest of the time they're waiting looking through the available books on display in Zlatko's many bookshelves, looking for some kind of indication that he could be related to the case. All he finds are books on painting and history and that's not really much to go on, but before he can investigate further Zlatko is returning into the room with a mug of coffee and a glass of scotch for himself.

Usually, Connor would scan the drinks made for the officers when they were made by strangers, but his head is too focused on the mysterious man in front of them and Gavin's already accepting it happily. “Ah, cheers. Looks amazing.”

Zlatko's chuckle isn't easy on the ears, and there's something forced about it that would make Connor's hair stand on end if it could, “Not at all, enjoy.”

He sits down on the opposite couch to Gavin and Connor decides to join them, realizing it probably looked a bit obvious he was snooping around the man's things. Gavin sips his coffee as if the heat doesn't bother him and sets it on a coaster on the table in front of him.

“Do you live here alone?” Gavin asks, and it's more out of curiosity than an actual scheduled question. But it's still one Connor wants to know.

“Yes, just me. I used to have a few Androids around the house, but then the revolution happened and all that.” Zlatko couples the dramatic wave of his hand with an eye roll, and Connor reminds himself to not get worked up about it, but he doesn't have to focus on it too long because that's when Zlatko's eyes lock onto him like a shark. “My apologies for asking, but... you wouldn't happen to be an RK800 model, would you?”

Connor blinks as he processes the question. He hasn't been called by his model name in a long time. “Yes, I am.”

“Fascinating,” Zlatko muses, watching him like he's a rare collector's item, “I've never seen one in person, that's all. You have processors most Androids would kill for, it's a privilege to be able to see one of you up close.”

Maybe Gavin senses that Connor's uncomfortable because that's when he perks up again, “You seem to know a lot about Androids, Mr. Andronikov.”

It's not a question, but he's prying for an answer. It's a clever segway Connor hadn't expected from the Detective. “Yes, well... I used to specialize in them before the uprising. I offered repairs for people who couldn't afford to get their Androids fixed or Deviants who were on the run.”

“You helped Deviants?”

“As many as I could. I provided them with a safe haven and helped them to escape the country if I was able to.” Zlatko raises his glass to his mouth and takes a long sip, smacking his lips beneath his beard.

Connor thinks back to the conversation he and Hank had with Kara after she had given them the name, how she had told him of Zlatko's promise to help her and Alice flee the country before he had taken her down to the basement and reset her programming. It wasn't sensible to be biased, and Connor couldn't sense any fabrication in Zlatko's tone, but he still believed his friend over this man.

“The anonymous source we contacted said that you tried to reset their memory. Did you ever attempt to do that on any of the Androids you helped?” Connor asked, making sure all his scanners were on full alert to pick up any signs of dishonesty in him.

“Only if they were a threat to themselves or others,” Zlatko spoke, his eyes fixed on his scotch, “sometimes the Deviants who came to me were so overcome by physical trauma that they were on the verge of self-destructing. In extreme cases, the only way to save them was to reset their memory, lest I wanted to put them or myself in danger.”

“Were those Androids responsible for your injuries, Mr. Andronikov? If you don't mind me askin’.” Gavin added onto the end of his question, his hands seeking out his coffee once again.

“Unfortunately so,” Zlatko smiled, bitter, “a group of deranged Deviants attacked me, unprompted, and left me for dead. I wouldn't have survived if it weren't for another Android in my home who found me, and since then I have been solely focused on my recovery.”

“So, you've been out of work for a while?”

“That's correct.”

None of his vitals spike and that's what makes Connor frustrated. He tries to convince himself that the man's just a good liar, but he isn't too sure if that's just because he wants to find answers. He can't let his impatience get in the way of the case. There's still a high chance this man might not be their killer, as much as a part of Connor screams that something is off.

Even still, he needs to get some information from this, “Your criminal record revealed you were involved in some black market activities, particularly in the Synth Trading industry. Could you give us some insight into that?”

“Like I said, I was in the business of helping Deviants and repairing them. Sometimes they would come to me missing certain biocomponents, and legally they are hard to come by.” Zlatko shrugged his shoulders, “I guess even good deeds often require for the law to be broken.”

“The killer we are currently pursuing,” Gavin interjected, ignoring his comment, “is somehow getting ahold of spare Android parts and experimenting with them on humans. We need to find the source of their supplies. Do you still have any of the contacts you were in touch with when dealing with Snyth Traders?”

Zlatko looked away as if he were thinking about it, but Connor doubted he was putting much thought into it at all, “I'm afraid not. There was a bit of a blaze here a while back and I lost a lot of files and information. I never went to the trouble of replacing them since I was done in the business anyway, so... I can't be of any help to you there.”

 _What a surprise_ , Connor thought to himself bitterly.

“No worries, just means we have to find them the long way.” Gavin shrugged, as pleasant as he could be, but Connor doubted he would be that courteous as soon as they got outside. He couldn't even comprehend how many complaints he was about to hear. “Well, I think that's everything... Connor?”

Connor's LED whirred yellow as Gavin awaited confirmation from him, and after a long hesitation in which he could think of nothing else to ask, he nodded. “Yes, that's everything. Thank you for your time, Mr. Andronikov.”

“My pleasure. Best of luck, I hope you find the man.” Zlatko smiled pleasantly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes which watched Gavin down the rest of his drink almost curiously. “How was your coffee?”

“Great, thanks.” Gavin grinned, looking slightly less grumpy than he had on the way here. “Though it was a little bitter. What brand was it?”

“A Russian one, it's much stronger than the one you will probably enjoy. If you would like, you can stay and I will make you another cup?”

“Nah, that's alright,” Gavin reassured with a wave of his hand, pulling himself up from the couch with a grunt. Connor followed suit, still too in his head to really be listening to the conversation. “We'd best be heading back, it's a long trip back to the station.”

Connor felt his frown deepen, had either of them mentioned the killer was a man?

“No, really, I insist,” Zlatko smiled, wolf-like, “ _stay_.”

Gavin's legs gave in under his weight as if the word had triggered the reaction, and he fell back against the couch again with a surprised grunt. Connor pulled himself out of his thoughts when he clocked what had happened, and when he moved to his side he saw Gavin's eyelids flickering slightly as if he were on the verge of losing consciousness.

“Gavin? Can you hear me?” Connor tried, his scanners activating and examining him rigorously to identify the cause as Gavin's body started to slow on the couch, his arms giving in now and falling limply at his sides. His speech slurred and any attempt he made to answer Connor was lost in a serious of mumbles and saliva.

It was too late when Connor's scan finally detected traces of Flunitrazepam within Gavin's body and before he could turn to confront the man who had spiked the drink, a heavy blow connected with the port on the back of Connor's neck and made his systems jolt.

The sensitive wires within there sent electric warnings all through his body and the sensory input was so much that his limbs stopped responding and Connor fell helplessly to the ground by Gavin's feet. His body was palpitating at a frantic pace as his programming tried to fix itself, but the hit had rendered several features unresponsive and Connor couldn't find the power to fix them.

Red errors filled his vision until Connor could no longer see Zlatko towering above him, and when he received yet another strike to his neck his system practically gave up on him.

**DANGER: TEMPORARY SHUT DOWN INITIATED**

“ _Lights out, Connor._ ”

Connor stops shaking and blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The car sex scene was inspired by some art I saw but I couldn't find it to link to it :(


	9. Forget Me Not

**REBOOTING...**

**LO@DING OS...**

**...**

**...**

**SYSTEM E##OR**

**WARNING**

**ALL S%STEMS IN LOW POWER MODE**

**> BIOCOMPON#NT #2037f DAMAGED**

**> B!OCOMPONENT #5391m DAMAGED**

**IMM#!IATE ATTENTION REQ*IRED**

**##/!#?@%?**

Connor blinked away the glitching notifications in his vision, sluggishly pulling up his system settings to try to identify the problems in his biocomponents and limbs. He found fifteen errors, including several disconnected wires and circuit units in his neck and abdomen ports and a malfunction in one of his optical units.

A few moments were spent dedicated to try and fix what he could from within his mind palace, rebooting his system and switching on his internal fans to try and cool down his core. His memory was in fragments and when he tried to look through it to find what had caused his current state, all he got was static and blurred images. His programming must have taken one hell of a knock.

The last string of memory he could locate was— in Hank's car. An image of himself tangled in the man's arms in the small space of the vehicle, of them emerging smugly afterward with the knowledge of their dirty secret, of being greeted by a furious Detective Reed who shouted abuse in their faces and blamed them for his latest assignment.

That was strange. Why would he and Hank have anything to do with his cases? They may be in the same department but they hardly ever worked together unless absolutely necessary. Hank and Connor were partners, there was no need for—

Another memory fragment made itself known within Connor's head. A distorted picture of Hank shouting abuse in Fowler's face, beyond angry at the audacity that he was being replaced with Reed. That Connor and Gavin would be working together. That Hank couldn't investigate Zlatko with him.

_Zlatko_.

The name triggered alarm bells within Connor and he couldn't place why. He and Gavin had already investigated him, hadn't they? They had questioned him and found nothing incriminating or any proof at all that he was related to the murders. It had just been a waste of time. He and Gavin had got up to leave with exactly the same amount of knowledge they'd had upon arriving, and they probably would have left if Gavin hadn't passed out on the couch. If Connor hadn't been—

_Oh no_.

Connor scrambled through his database and located his emergency contacts in seconds, glancing between Fowler and Hank's number and then scolding himself for even considering the Captain. He blinked and pressed the call button beside Hank's name, silently praying he would somehow answer even as his system fought against him and rejected his request.

His confused mind tried to piece together why it wasn't working, why Connor couldn't establish a connection or operate his own functions, but when a dark voice sounded near his head he got his answer.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Connor fought against the malfunction in his optical units, but even still he only managed to get one eye to respond. He forced it open and through the hazy fog and blurry distortion he was able to make out a face in front of him.

Disheveled brown hair and a beard greeted him, messy and unkempt and hiding half of his face. No light could be found in the black eyes that peered back at him despite the bright cosmetic lights that surrounded them and made the rest of the room undistinguishable, and Connor could only just make out the scars and stitches on the man's face. But the familiarity of those soulless eyes was enough to let Connor know who was talking to him.

Zlatko smiled that wolf-like smile he bore so proudly as Connor slowly came round, “There we are. I was starting to think you weren't going to reboot. It's a good thing you're resilient, isn't it?”

When Connor tried to speak a notification cropped up into his vision and told him his vocal processor was damaged, and the voice that he came out with was static and low, “Wh-Whe... What i-is—”

“Oh, I wouldn't bother if I was you. You're a bit knocked up, I'm afraid.” The laugh Zlatko gave was just as chilling as Connor remembered it to be, even more so now he was up close. The realization that he was, in fact, close made Connor moves his arms instinctively to try and fight, but nothing happened and a grip on his limbs restricted his movement.

With his one good eye, Connor looked around to try and find the problem and spotted a series of long wires and mechanical arms that held his limbs and body in place. One of them was plugged into the port on the back of his neck, and as Connor slowly started to become more aware he could feel it digging around his insides.

“Remarkable, isn't it?” Zlatko's voice sounds again and Connor turns up his head back to face him reluctantly. “I built it myself using the exact same blueprints that Cyberlife used to make their machines. Except mine is... a little different. It can work on humans, too.”

Connor's head was spinning, because of the information or because of the disruption in his wires, he wasn't too sure, “G-Gavin...” He managed to splutter out, suddenly concerned for the wellbeing of his colleague.

“Don't worry about him. He's safe — for now.” Zlatko smiles again, “It's you that has my attention at this moment.”

“What... are you going to do?”

He cocked a bushy brow at him, almost mockingly, “Come on now, surely you've figured it out? You've been investigating my work for a while now, you should be, at the very least, familiar about it.”

Connor visibly swallowed the imaginary lump in his throat but said nothing, just waited for his suspicions to be confirmed.

“I thought so.” Zlatko chuckled, moving to one of the monitors that resided near the machine Connor was plugged into. A few buttons were pressed and Connor felt his insides being sifted through. “Usually, I have to go quite a way out to find my next experiments, but here I have two perfect candidates who have wondered into my home so freely. It's almost fate, isn't it?”

Connor shivered at the thought of being an experiment. He'd already experienced his fair share of tests and uncomfortable examinations during his trial-runs at Cyberlife, he wasn't eager to face them again. Despite his fear, he couldn't stop himself from being investigative. It was in his nature, after all.

“W-Why? Why are you... doing this?”

“For the good of mankind, of course. Regardless of the image the media paints of me, my experiments are in place to help humanity.”

“How?”

“By expanding their lives, by improving them.” Zlatko pressed another button and Connor felt one of his legs stop responding. Funny how it took a whole machine to pull off a feat Hank had managed so easily. “Could you imagine how much better life would be if we mere mortals had access to the technology you possess? If we had your systems and supercomputers inside of us, there would be no limit to what we could do.”

Connor winced, out of confusion more than pain, “That's impossible.”

Zlatko smiled up at him again, his eyes narrowed and dark as if he knew something Connor didn't. “Is it?”

Connor couldn't respond, he didn't know. Not really. A hundred years ago mankind would never have thought a being like Connor could ever exist, and yet here he was. There was no telling just how far humans would go to keep improving their lives and making them easier. No telling how far someone like this man would go, the lengths they would take.

Humans are never satisfied — they are greedy and selfish, constantly trying to stop the inevitable. Granted, not all humans, but the ones who keep continuously pushing to extreme levels for their own egotistical needs. Zlatko seemed to undoubtedly be one of those people.

Taking his silence as an answer, Zlatko raised his gloved hand in response and pulled off the layer of material that covered it. The long sleeve of his shirt was pulled back and Connor had to double take to make sure he wasn't imagining the clear white skin that stared back at him.

Zlatko's arm was made of synthetic, just like an Android's. It was shiny and functional and Connor's mind could hardly process it. Zlatko flexed the fingers of the hand experimentally, marveling at it.

“Surprised?” Zlatko asked, cocking his head. “I was too. When those Deviants attacked me, the doctors had no choice but to amputate the limb. They'd all but broken my body. I was a offered a prosthetic as a replacement, but it just... wasn't the same. I wanted something better, something stronger. Which is when the idea came to me.”

“How did you—”

“It wasn't easy. Not something that was achievable on the first attempt, I assure you.” He smirked, his eyes somehow even darker now. “But I didn't give up, and after numerous experiments, I eventually found a way to succeed. And then I decided I couldn't just keep this to myself, it was something I had to share. My gift to the world.”

“So you began experimenting on others.”

“Precisely. You catch on fast, don't you?” Zlatko praised, and the tone of his voice, though it shouldn't have been possible, made Connor feel sick. “I wasn't going to demonstrate on myself, I'm far too valuable for the risk. And no one would willingly subject themselves, so... I had to take what I needed myself.

“I only took lowlifes, of course. People who wouldn't be missed — lawbreakers, prostitutes, criminals. People who could contribute better to humanity and serve a higher purpose. They were blessed to have been found by me.”

“ _Blessed_?” Connor scowled, his static voice cracking as it raised. “You desecrated them.”

“I gave them a chance at a new life. Some experiments may have failed, but — they still contributed to progress.”

Connor's detective instincts are bubbling just as much as his fear, “Wh-What about Sam? The restaurant owner? Why him?”

“An unhappy accident,” Zlatko sighed, pretending to consider the nails of his human hand. Connor noted they were stained with Thirium, and he had no doubt it was probably his own. “I was in partnership with the AC700 — he was the one who provided me with any biocomponents and spare parts I needed. The business he ran was simply a front for his black market trades. However, after a while, he decided he wanted to terminate our business and, well, I couldn't have him blabbing so... I killed him and took the parts he wouldn't provide me.”

Connor felt speechless, mentally and literally. It was too much information to process and with his mind still so scattered it was damn near impossible to piece it all together. Zlatko was spoon feeding him the answers he had been searching for and he still couldn't understand it.

“But his parts were old — outdated. Yours are more advanced and stable; I think you'll be a wonderful contribution to my research.”

“Then you don't need Gavin.” Connor said quickly because even if there was no getting out of this, he could still try and save someone else. “You only need my parts, so you can let him go.”

“And what? Have him running back to the police and coughing? I don't think so.” Zlatko smiled, and then another button was pressed and Connor lost control of his arm. “Besides, he's a perfect candidate too. Designing my creation with people who hate Androids makes it all that much more bittersweet; they become the thing they hate most. Ironic, isn't it?”

Connor thought back to the bodies they had found, the criminal records, the Anti-Android riots they had been involved in. Connor had thought, at the time, that it was a clear indicator the suspect was an Android, targetting people who sought to destroy them. Hank had disagreed and, now, it turned out he was right.

_Hank_. Connor's Thirium Pump stuttered. He'd give anything to see Hank right now. How lucky it was that he had been taken off the case when he was; Connor didn't want to see Reed die, despite everything, but at least Hank wasn't in his place.

The feeling of another wire being tampered with brought him back to the present, “Wh-Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Well, you've been searching for these answers so desperately, haven't you? It would be a shame to have come all this way and found nothing.” Zlatko was in front of him now, close enough that Connor could slap him if his limbs would allow him too. He really wished he could. “Besides, once your memory is reset, you won't remember a thing.”

“What?” Connor felt panic in his chest, fear rising. “Y-You can't do that.”

“Actually, I can.”

“I don't _want_ to be reset.”

“Your a machine,” Zlatko said, bitterly, “you're not _supposed_ to want anything.”

Anger and panic mixed into one inside of Connor's chest. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do something. He wanted to defy Zlatko's words and prove he is more than what he said he was. But what difference would it make? This man is deranged and no self-awareness of Connor's is going to change that.

No matter what Connor does, Zlatko won't stop. He'll reset him and take what he needs from Connor's body as if he were nothing more than an arsenal for his cruel experiments. The only thing he can try and do now is pry for more information and hope it provides him the insight he needs.

“The DPD know where we are. If we don't return they will send people to investigate.” Connor warned, and he did so with confidence. He knew Hank would never let him down; he would come and, regardless of whether or not Connor would be alive to see it, he would take this fucker down.

“Yes, I am well aware.” Zlatko sighed, exasperated as if Connor was the most boring thing he'd come across all day. “However, we still have some time. Then I'll begin to move my things to the warehouse I keep just outside the city. You would be surprised how many biocomponents and dismantled Androids were abandoned in the old Cyberlife stores; there's enough there to keep my research running for a good few years.”

Panic continues to rise in Connor's chest as Zlatko continues to extinguish all the remaining hope he's holding on to, and it only builds at a terrifying pace when he watches him move over to the large control panel in the side of the room and mess with the buttons and features there.

The machine's moving around inside of him and his body won't stop jolting, “It doesn't matter what you do to me or where you go. He will find you regardless and h-he will stop you.”

“He?” Zlatko glances over his shoulder, a brow raised in curiosity, “Someone, in particular, you're expecting?”

Connor clamps his mouth shut, cursing himself in his head. His thoughts and speech are mixed up and his system is just confused by how much it's being tampered with. He doesn't want this man to know anything about his life, about the person he cares about, so he bites his tongue to stop himself speaking. The pain is lost in the overwhelming ache that comes from the rest of his body.

“Someone you care about, perhaps? Another Android?”

Connor says nothing, and yet somehow that's enough.

“Oh.” The corner of Zlatko's lips turns upwards smugly, accompanied by that shit-eating laugh that Connor can't stand. “A human? How amusing. Well, perhaps being involved in this experiment will be the best for you. After all, those type of relationships will never last. You're better off being shut down and forgetting all about it.”

Connor shakes his head rapidly, feeling the machine pull him back and seize his movements. “You don't know anything.”

“My dear boy, how naive you are.” More controls are typed into the mainframe of the machine until a memory wipe preparation processor appears on one of the monitors. The mechanical arm digs deep into Connor's core and clouds his mind, his systems beginning to slow again before they even had a chance to wake up in the first place.

Connor's vision blurs, and when he finally finds the ability to blink it away again, he sees Zlatko's face up close. “Don't worry. Soon you'll be the intelligent machine you were made to be once again; no need to meddle over such mundane emotions. You'll be free from them.”

If Connor could have spat, he would have done it now.

“Now, relax. This isn't going to be pleasant.”

Darkness clouds over his eyes once again as the heavy lull of his systems pulls him back under, notifications and warnings flashing everywhere around him to alert him of the unprecedented reset happening in his body, a timer ticking steadily at the center of it all.

Connor could do nothing to stop it, he already knew that. So, as he slowly felt the last pieces of himself falling away, all he could do was hope that the memory wipe wouldn't reach the audio recording he had been taping throughout their conversation.

**REINITALIZATION COMPLETED**

**MEMORY DELETED**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Where the fuck are they?” Hank asks no one in particular for the hundredth time this evening. He's pacing up and down beside his desk, ignoring the look he's receiving from Chris who is perched on a seat near him. “It shouldn't be taking this long. They should have been back an hour ago, at least.”

“Maybe they just got held up,” the other officer suggests, trying his best to be reassuring, “they might have found something to look into or... got caught in traffic. It's probably nothing, you're just overthinking.”

Hank scowls, “Fuck off, Miller.”

There was, really, no need at all for Hank to be so angry at Chris — all the poor sod had tried to do for the past hour was try to reassure him that Connor will be alright and will probably turn up soon. He'd even brought him coffee. Hank glances over at the forgotten mug of caffeine on his desk and realizes it's cold now.

Hank isn't actually angry at Chris. He is just frustrated in general. It's bad enough that he had been taken off the case in the first place, but now his partner was missing and no seemed to give a shit about it.

All Fowler had been concerned about was whether or not Hank had done the work he had been asked to do today and hadn't even batted an eyelid at the prospect that two of his officers could potentially be lying dead in a ditch somewhere: “ _You're overacting, as usual, Hank. Just shut up and get back to work_.”

Hank had never wanted to punch the fucker so much in his life.

This pacing wasn't helping either. If anything it was only making him more stressed and tired. But he couldn't sit still, not whilst he knew Connor was still out there. Call it being overprotective or paranoid or whatever but Connor had gone out to investigate an actual serial killer five hours ago and still had not returned, how else was Hank supposed to react?

He pulled out his phone to check it again, looking for a text, a call, _anything_. Some sign that would tell him that Connor was alive and safe. But nothing showed up on his screen. He grunted in frustration and immediately stopped pacing, turning and marching toward the station doors.

Chris perked up once more, “Lieutenant, where are you going?”

“I'm gonna call him again.” Hank mumbled absently as he walked away, his attention no longer on him, only focused on finding Connor's number. He had already called about twenty times, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try again.

He pressed his back against one of the walls outside the precinct, away from the eyes of Fowler or the other officers, alone and quietly pleading as he held the phone to his ear and listened to the dial tones drag on and on for what felt like hours.

There was a horrible pain in his chest when he heard the beep sound back at him yet again.

Connor's voicemail followed, goofy and beautiful and the only voice Hank wanted to hear right now, “ _Hello, this is Connor. Unfortunately, I am unable to respond to your communications right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the small noise and I will be sure to contact you as soon as possible. Thank you_.”

Hank clutches the phone tightly, glad no one was around to see the ridiculous smile on his face. To think that once Hank had found that voice annoying and emotionless. Now, he could probably listen to it on loop all day. In fact, most days, he did, and he'd do anything to be able to hear it properly now.

Another beep sounded in Hank's ear and he immediately felt himself stiffen up, his breathing suddenly the only thing he could hear in the loud silence around him. He hesitated, barely managing to get himself together, and then opened his mouth to speak.

“Connor. I dunno where the fuck you are or what you're playin' at, but you need to call me back right _now_ and tell me you're alright. I know you answer calls in your head so don't pretend like you can't hear this.” Hank growled down the phone, his tone angry but completely contradicting his actual feelings. “You’re worrying me, alright? It's been five hours since you left and I haven't heard a thing. I just... I need to know you're okay.”

Hank can hear his teeth grinding in his mouth, trying desperately to push out words to show how urgent this was. How worried he was. “If you're in any sort of danger, you've gotta tell me, Con. Tell me and you know I'll be down there soon as I can to get you outta there. But you need to give me something.”

He waited and waited as if, somehow, Connor's voice would come through the phone and respond to his plea. But the longer he waited, the more hope he lost.

“I need you to be okay, Connor. I can't lose you too.” He pushed out, the words ripping through him and spiking every single fear within him. Fear of vulnerability, of love. “I didn't wanna do this on the phone, Con, because you're worth so much more than that, but I...”

He choked. His heart hammered inside his chest and his spare hand clenched tightly at his sides, trying desperately to fight against his pride and just say what he wanted to say. What Connor wanted to hear. What Hank felt.

“I love you, alright?” Hank breathed, his eyes screwed shut. “I love you and I can't live without you. So, just... fucking call me back you stupid lump of metal. _Okay_? Good.”

Hank shoves his thumb into the end call button and slams his head back against the wall, ignoring the pain that blossoms from the impact. His heart is racing and his mind is spinning and he's absently reminded of the fear he felt upon watching Connor marching up towards an army during the Android Revolt all those months back. The same fear, only amplified by the fact he had no way of knowing what was happening. 

In the back of his head, he wonders if this was how Connor had felt, sending that final voicemail to Hank on his way to Cyberlife, thinking it would be his last chance to confess his feelings. A few weeks ago Hank couldn't even comprehend talking about it, and now here he was doing the exact same fucking thing.

There's a sudden and intense craving for nicotine and alcohol in his system to try and calm his nerves, and he can't help but be excited about the dozen whiskey shots he's going to down when he and Connor get home. 

_If_ Connor comes back, that is.

Mentally slapping himself and scolding his pessimism, Hank pockets his phone again and heads back into the station. He ignores Chris when he asks him if Connor answered and that's enough to let him know that he didn't, so he leaves Hank be without another word.

Hank slumps down in his desk chair and absently picks up Connor's discarded scarf that he left at the station before heading out on his case. He clutches on to it tightly with both hands and closes his eyes as if he could somehow will Connor to reappear in the station, but when he glances over at the door again all he sees is Officer Chen leaving the building as she finishes her shift.

He spots the coffee on his desk and remembers it's cold, but he downs the whole thing anyway.

_Fuck this day._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**IMPENDING VOICEMAIL**

**CALLER CONTACT: LIEUTENANT ANDERSON, HANK > 19:07**

**SCANNING DATABASE FOR CALLER IDENTIFICATION...**

**NO MATCH FOUND**

**PLAY MESSAGE? Y/N**

**YES**

**...**

**...**

**REPEAT MESSAGE? Y/N**

**NO**

**DELETE MESSAGE? Y/N**

**YES**

**...**

**MESSAGE DELETED**


	10. Amalgamation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry about the wait (again). weekly updates are back after today. i even added another chapter woo. this chapter's pretty hefty, 11,000 words, you may wanna grab a snack.
> 
> now to gavin's pov, because we love gavin.

Gavin wakes to the feeling of cold stone against his cheek, shards of brick digging into his skin and making him wince as feeling starts to flow back into his body. He's numb all over, and when he tries to pry his eyes open he's met only by darkness and blurred shadows.

His memory fails him as he attempts to discern the situation - to remember where he is, or how he got here. It doesn't help that he can't tell where _here_ is, and he wishes he had some kind of indicator to tell him. But, even as his eyes adjust to the dark around him, there is still no sign of anything that will provide him some sort of clue.

The stinging in his eyes accumulates as his mind becomes more aware, and his blurred vision intensifies due to the specks of dust and dirt that have made their way into his eyeballs. He tries to blink them away, but to no avail, and when he resorts to trying to press his fingers into them instead, he finds he can't move his hands.

Shifting them behind his back, he notices the unsympathetic metal that bites into his wrists and, being somewhat of a detective, he discerns almost immediately that he is restricted by handcuffs - his own handcuffs, actually, as he discerns when he looks over his shoulder. Fuck sake.

He struggles to recollect how he could have possibly got into this situation - face down on the ground, wrists cuffed behind his back, a banging in his head that he had only ever experienced after nights in loud clubs and twenty tequila shots. He doubted any of this could have transpired from a rowdy night on the town, but he wouldn't rule it out.

_"Besides, once your memory is reset, you won't remember a thing."_

The voice sounds in his ears from somewhere outside of his... room? Cell? _Dungeon?_ He has no idea. But he knows he recognizes that voice, he just can't place who it belongs to. Whoever it is, however, the sound of their tone is enough to make Gavin shudder, apparently. Though that could be chalked up to how fucking cold it is in here.

_"What? Y-You can't do that."_

Was that Connor? His voice is distinguishable from anywhere; that annoying, goofy tone of his. Gavin can't fail to recognize it. He also can't fail to miss the spike of worry that surfaces upon realizing he isn't the only one stuck in this place, that Connor is also here too - if Gavin isn't just imagining it, that is.

_"Actually, I can."_

_"I don't want to be reset."_

_"You're a machine. You're not supposed to want anything."_

Gavin knows fuck all about Androids or their systems, but he knows the word 'reset' can't mean anything good. He vaguely remembers Connor saying a reset has something to do with memory, though he can't remember why Connor would ever feel the need to inform him of this. Regardless, Gavin knows it isn't anything good - and Connor is about to experience it.

_"The DPD know where we are. If we don't return they will send people to investigate."_

So they're on a case then. That explains a lot. He recalls little bits of information now; Fowler informing him his newest assignment would be with Connor, how angry he had been upon hearing this, how much he'd ripped into Anderson for it. But he couldn't place what the assignment had been.

He thinks long and hard about what it could have been, suddenly finding himself in desperate need of a cigarette and a strong coffee to jog his memory with. He hasn't had a good coffee in a long time and the last one he could remember having had been absolutely vile.

What was the brand again? It had been... Russian, right?

_Oh, fuck_.

Everything comes flooding back now. Zlatko, the house, the coffee. How could he have forgotten? Whatever that prick had put in Gavin's drink must have really fucked him up, and he was undoubtedly gonna fuck him up when he next saw him.

He jimmies against the handcuffs again whilst Zlatko goes on about some old abandoned Cyberlife warehouse in the other room, but Gavin's hardly listening at this point, concerned only about getting out of these restraints and getting him and Connor the fuck out of here.

This is not the first time Gavin's been in this predicament, stuck in his own handcuffs and unable to get out - though it mostly happens in the comfort of his own house after a rough session with some kinky one-night stand. But now isn't the time to be thinking about that. Now is the time to remember that Gavin is well prepared for situations like this.

Shifting his wrists behind his back, he manages to angle just right that he can reach the pockets of his jeans, and after rummaging through them for a minute he finds exactly what he's looking for - a small piece of bendy metal between his fingers in the form of a paper clip.

He smiles and restrains the urge to give himself a pat on the back, mostly because he can't, and gets to work bending the metal accordingly. It's harder to do when you can't see your hands, but Gavin's managed it before - he can damn well do it again.

It takes a long time after Gavin gets the clip into the lock, longer than he would have liked, but eventually, he feels the lever push down and the ratchets slide away, allowing him to pull his wrist free. He pulls himself up slowly, his limbs stiff and aching as he finally brings his arms in front of him again, and takes the opportunity to stretch them out with a groan.

The second cuff is easier to open since Gavin can actually see it, and within seconds he's stuffing the manacles into his pocket and standing with the support of the brick wall behind him. He could have punched the air, but the gloomy reminder that this was only half of the escape makes the impulse disappear.

As he slowly starts to become more aware of his surroundings, he realizes he is in... a stable? Or, at least, that's what it looks like. The half-door and surrounding frame are made of wood and secured only by a sliding door bolt, but it seems pointless given that Gavin can just climb right over the small fence door. Perhaps Zlatko hadn't expected him to be able to get out of the cuffs so easily, or maybe he hadn't expected him to wake up in the first place.

Either way, Gavin's grateful it's easy enough to get out of, and doesn't hesitate to rush over and begin trying to climb over. As soon as he does, however, the sound of footsteps and growling from somewhere up ahead resonates in his ears, and he spots shadows emerging from one of the other rooms.

Scurrying back to the ground, Gavin gets back into his previous position in the dark corner of the room, ignoring the aching in his arms when he puts them behind his back to give the illusion he's still cuffed. It's dark enough that Gavin can squint his eyes open to see who approaches his cell without being caught, and what he sees is expected... but somehow shocking at the same time.

Zlatko's face peers around the corner, glaring into the shadows of Gavin's cell. There's a moment when Gavin wonders if the drug is still messing with his head, because what other explanation could there be for the synthetic arm that resides where Zlatko's human arm should be. The arm that had been gloved and covered earlier, if he remembered correctly - and now it is apparent why it had been.

The growling Gavin had heard beforehand now makes an appearance in the form of a large, terrifying Dobermann that stops at Zlatko's heels, teeth bared and snapping as it follows it's master's gaze into the cell. Perhaps what's even more shocking about its appearance is the LED that circles at the side of its head, yellow and alert, flashing in time with the dog's mechanical blink.

Gavin feels his body freeze up. A pissed-off Dobermann is scary enough, but a _robot one?_ That's going to be one hell of a bite if it catches Gavin escaping.

"Come, boy," Zlatko says, with more affection than Gavin thought he could be capable of, "this one's still out cold. We can come back for him later."

The dog continues to glare into the darkness, untrusting of his master's judgment, but when Zlatko turns and makes his way towards the stairs the dog complies with a soft whine and follows accordingly, leaving Gavin alone once again in the darkness.

Realizing he's been holding his breath, Gavin gasps for air, feeling his entire body un-tense with relief. He had been sure he was going to get caught then, but he's bloody glad he didn't. Once he's sure they've gone and he can no longer hear their footsteps, he pushes himself up again and makes his way back over to the door, clambering over it as silently as possible. It's not very graceful, but he manages it.

Now he just needs to find Connor and get the fuck outta here. Easy enough, _right?_

He makes his way toward the room Zlatko had previously emerged from, remembering Connor's voice from earlier had come from this direction, but he still makes sure to peer inside the other stables as he goes along. At first, it's to check for other dogs or threats, but the only thing he discovers are Androids. Lots of them.

Some of them are dismantled beyond repair, and in some cases, they're missing legs or arms or even one half of their entire body. Blue blood splatters every surface Gavin can see and, oddly enough, it almost makes him gag. The Androids that are still in working order are unmoving, but very much awake, their LEDs flashing between red and yellow as they anticipate whatever fate Zlatko has in store for them.

There's an urge to help, to get them out, to do _something_ , but Gavin doesn't even know if there is a way out. He doesn't know if he will survive this himself and, selfishly, his priority is guaranteeing his and Connor's safety right now. Besides, half of them look like they can't even move, let alone like they can pull off some grand escape from this hell hole.

So Gavin leaves them, guilt eating at him as he does, and refocuses on the task at hand as he approaches the final room.

And it is, an actual room, Gavin realizes as he gets closer. Not a fucking stable like the rest of them. The light is dimmer up close, the room lit only by a series of fluorescent beams that somehow still manage to make Gavin squint when he sees them. It's separated into two by a large plastic curtain that goes right through the center of the room, and on the side Gavin emerges in he sees piles of rubbish and synthetic parts and... a _well?_ What the _fuck?_ Is there anything this prick doesn't have?

Peering into the darkness of it, Gavin sees a ladder that leads to... god knows where. But it's a way out should he need it, and it may be the only one he finds.

Turning his attention back to the curtain, Gavin moves towards it and grasps the material between his fingers, hesitating momentarily. A part of him wonders if he's ready for whatever carnage will lie behind here - if he'll find Connor or, worse, Connor's body. Or, worse again, what's _left_ of Connor's body.

" _Fuck_." He mumbles to himself as the thought comes to mind, but he quickly brushes it aside. _Don't jump to conclusions_ , he reminds himself, as he looks back at the curtain again and slowly pulls it open.

What he sees makes his blood run cold.

The large machine that takes up the entirety of the room is scary enough, wires of different colors and sizes stretching from the several monitors and controls that reside in the corner and linking to the mechanical arms in the center - arms that hold a very busted looking android in place. But not just any android.

_Connor_.

His usual neat, white shirt he always wears is stained with blue blood and torn open, revealing the gaping port on his abdomen where wires and biocomponents have been tampered with and left exposed. One of his arms is bent in a way that... shouldn't be natural, and several wires protrude from his wrist that almost look like veins. His head is hung in front of him so that Gavin can't see his face, but he can see his LED spinning yellow at his temple and he can only take that as a good sign. At least he isn't dead.

"Shit, Connor?" He tries, stepping toward him carefully. There's no way of telling how he will react, or if he will even respond. "Connor, can you hear me?"

No response. Gavin steps closer, reaches out and shakes his shoulder.

"Connor, it's Gavin. You gotta wake up. We need to get outta here."

The shaking has some effect because Connor's LED flashes and his head slowly raises at the movement. His face is somehow paler, though Gavin isn't sure if that's even possible. There's blue blood leaking from the corners of his lips and dripping down his chin, and something in his eyes reminds Gavin of how he looked the first time they'd met. Mechanical and unblinking... _soulless_.

Gavin fails to hide a wince on his face, and tries again, "Connor? Say something."

"You are not supposed to be here," Connor says, so suddenly that Gavin almost jumps. His voice is deeper, unnaturally so, though the static of his tone is more offputting. "You are not authorized to be here. You need to leave."

"The fuck are you on about, Connor? Neither of us are s'posed to be here, we need to go."

Connor's head tilts on an angle and as he does it reveals more exposed wires at his neck, "The master has not authorized for you to be here. You should not disobey the master."

" _Master_? You mean Zlatko?" Gavin scoffs, shaking his head, "Connor, he ain't your master. Now shut up and tell me how to get you outta this thing."

Gavin moves to try and pry one of the claws off Connor's wrist, which is probably fruitless but he tries anyway, until the arm yanks it away from him before he can manage. Connor continues to just watch him, "You need to leave. If you do not leave, I will inform the master of your disobedience."

_Fuck_. Gavin feels his shoulders tense. Is he too late? Had Zlatko already reset him? "C'mon, Connor, it's me. Gavin. _Reed_."

"Gavin Reed is not in my database. Connor is not in my database. You have no authorization."

"Shit." Gavin breathes quietly, pressing the ball of his palm into his forehead. He tries to wrack his brain for what he can do, how he can help. He suddenly wishes he knew more about androids. "Connor, you gotta try and think. We came here to investigate, remember? That so-called master of yours kidnapped us. We have to get back to the DPD and tell em."

"Connor is not in my database. I will inform the master of your disobedience."

"For fuck's sake, Connor, _think_!"

Connor blinks, his LED flashes, "The master has been informed."

Several dogs suddenly beginning barking up above, loud and terrifying in Gavin's ears, making his heart stop as the sound of footsteps and paw prints thud against the ceiling and head towards the stairwell. Panic swells inside of him, knowing he had to do something, and fast.

He looks up at Connor again, his heart hammering against his chest, "Connor, C'mon! You've gotta come with me, I can't just leave you here."

"The master has been informed. You will be punished." Connor says, unphased, that lifeless gaze still fixed on him. Gavin restrains the urge to pull at his hair in frustration. Nothing he says works and he doesn't have a clue how to get him out of the machine. There's not enough time _to_ figure it out. The barking is getting closer.

"Fuck, I-" Gavin doesn't know what to say, what to do. There's nothing he can do. The thought hurts him more than he cares to admit. He forces himself to meet Connor's gaze again, despite how guilty it makes him feel. "I'll come back for you, Connor. I swear, just... just hold on, alright?"

Connor's LED flashes yellow again, and for a second Gavin thinks he understands, but it depletes when Connor says, "The master is coming. You need to leave."

There's almost a hint of warning to his tone this time, and maybe it's just Gavin's imagination... but it sounds like a plead. As if, somewhere inside of him, the real Connor is telling him to turn and run, run and get away before he's found. Gavin hopes he isn't imagining it, that there is a spark of him left. Something they can save.

But there's no time to dwell on it, the barking is at the end of the corridor now and he can hear Zlatko's voice yelling, "He's gone! Find him, _now_!"

With one final look at Connor's broken form within the machine, Gavin curses under his breath and makes a beeline for the well on the other side of the room. His feet find the steps of the ladder just as Connor's head drops down again, and Gavin just misses the sight of the first large Dobermann bolting into the room as he scurries down the ladder into the darkness of the well below.

Water splashes beneath Gavin's feet as he finds the bottom of the well, and he's so fucking relieved to see a tunnel in front of him now, leading out to... well, Gavin's got no fucking clue. He doesn't even know if they're still at Zlatko's house. But he guesses he'll find out.

Zlatko's angry voice echoes above him, along with the dog's barking, and Gavin wastes no more time in turning and sprinting down the tunnel as fast as he can, not looking back once as he runs towards the light.

All he can do now is hope it leads to somewhere safe, and pray Connor won't suffer because of him.

Though, at this point, it seems highly unlikely.

 

* * *

 

  
If Hank had been worried two hours ago, it was nothing compared to the overwhelming anxiety he felt now.

Hank's concern in the previous few hours has somewhat... spiraled out of control. The other officers can't call it concern anymore, they only see Hank's anger as he storms around the station - but that's all it is. Concern. It's not his fault they're experiencing the shitty side of it all.

Like how, when Fowler informs him that he still can't go and investigate, Hank retaliates by calling him a tasteless word beginning with C that he doesn't usually believe in saying at all - especially not in front of his boss. Or when Miller walks into the office to offer Hank some donuts to calm him down, and Hank slaps them away with the exclamation of _"donuts aren't gonna bring Connor back, you fuckin' schmooze."_

One thing he isn't doing is overreacting, not in the slightest. Overreacting would be walking up to Fowler's office and punching him square in the nose like the fucker deserves - but, as Hank has learned from previous experiences, punching your superiors is not always the wisest choice. Though, no one had been too fussed about Perkins, surprise surprise.

No, Hank is not overreacting. If anything they are all underreacting. Pretending everything is sunshine and rainbows and a perfectly typical day at the DPD. A typical day where Reed and Connor have been 'stuck in traffic' for _seven hours_.

The only person who is being reasonable, who is actually seeing fucking _sense_ , is Chen. Chen who had stormed back into the station after learning Gavin had been missing for god knows how long and instantly demanded to talk to the Captain - which Hank had happily obliged to and taken her up himself, and he's bloody glad he did.

"The fuck do you mean we're not gonna look for them?" The red anger on Tina's face rivals only Hank's, and Hank is struggling to remember the last time he and Chen had actually agreed on something. But, hey, he's glad someone has a brain enough to understand the gravity of the situation, cause Jeff sure as hell doesn't.

Fowler doesn't look up from his terminal as he says, "Chen, don't you start on me now too."

"Start? I'm only just fucking beginning." She scowls, "Are you cracked, Jeff? Can you not see what's going on here?"

"I expect that kinda language from Anderson, but not from you, Chen. Wash your mouth out, or get out."

"Gavin is missing, for god's sake!" Tina's hands slam on the desk, the same way Hank's had when having this exact same conversation two fucking hours ago. Hank grunts behind her and she adds, "Yeah and Connor, too. Whatever."

Hank scoffs under his breath, " _Prick_."

"Listen," Fowler starts, and Hank swears if he hears him start one more sentence with that word today, he'll break something. "I get that you're both concerned, and we'll do something when we can. But we can't do anything without clearance or the proper backup. I can't have the two of you running in there waving your guns without any help."

"But you could do that to Connor and Reed," Hank interjects, Fowler ignores him.

"Which is why you both need to settle down and quit your bitchin. We'll help them when we can, but you're gonna have to be patient."

Tina scowls again, "How're we supposed to be patient when they could be fucking dead? We could have got them back hours ago if you had actually listened to Anderson for once."

"Hank is not the Captain of this department." Fowler's voice raises several octaves, enough so that Chris could probably hear it through the glass. "And I will not have two of my employees trying to tell me how to do my job properly."

"Then do your job _properly_!"

"That's _enough_!" Fowler decides he's had it, he stands from behind his desk and that, in turn, makes Tina withdraw her hands and take a step back. "Both of you get the fuck outta my office before I fire you on the spot! I don't wanna hear any more whining outta either of you until I give you your orders, got it?"

The three of them share some uncomfortable eye contact for a few seconds, daggers being shot this way and that before Hank finally grunts and reaches for the handle. He's not usually the type to give up - not when it's something this big. But he's been trying for hours now and honestly, at this point, he's tempted to say _'fuck it'_ and go to Zlatko's himself. Maybe he would. He hadn't decided yet.

A nasty voice in the back of Hank's mind reminds him this is why business doesn't mix with pleasure - especially when you're in this line of business. Police work often means danger, danger means risks - risks of losing your life, of losing your colleagues.

Connor is _more_ than a colleague, that goes without saying, but that only makes the blow worse if it's been dealt.

Chen stays behind in the office for a few minutes whilst Fowler writes out, most likely, a disciplinary warning slip for her behavior, but Hank can wager she doesn't give a toss. Like Hank, it's not the first disciplinary she's received, and it probably won't be the last. Fowler loves giving out those fucking stupid slips.

Miller's brought fresh coffee to the desk, Hank can smell it as he makes his way over. "What did Fowler say?"

"That bastard," Hank grumbles, taking one of the coffees from the desk - he doesn't know _which_ is his but he needs caffeine desperately, "is a piss poor excuse of a captain. Fuck him and this whole fuckin' place."

"So it went well, then?" Miller grins, unhelpfully. Hank says nothing. He tastes no sugar in his coffee and grimaces. "Yeah, sorry, Lieutenant. That was mine. I should have been more clear."

Hank knows it's his own fault for being impatient, but whatever. "You don't have sugar?"

"Not really."

Swapping for the other cup Chris holds out to him, he grumbles under his breath, " _Sadist_."

Unphased by the comment, Chris shrugs his shoulders and chugs his drink happily, and continues to remain unphased when the sound of Fowler's door being slammed shut echoes around the bullpen for the second time. Tina emerges with a fist clenched tightly around a piece of paper, her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

Fowler fogs the glass after she leaves, clearly no longer wanting to be disturbed, and Chris holds out her designated coffee towards her so she doesn't make the same mistake as Hank when she approaches. She yanks it out of his hand with a long groan, a language Hank understands well.

"Tell me about it," he grumbles, lips fixed around the styrofoam cup.

"This is so stupid. We should be out there."

"Yeah, state the fuckin' obvious, why don't ya, Chen?" Hank dodges the crushed up slip Tina throws at him in response, glaring at him all the way. "I don't see why we're wastin' our time waitin' for Fowler to make up his damned mind when we coulda gone out there ourselves hours ago. Screw what Fowler thinks."

Chris shuffles in his chair uncomfortably, like the goody-two-shoes he is. "I don't think we should be ignoring the Captain's orders, Lieutenant. Just give it a little while longer and he'll come around, I'm sure."

"You said that two hours ago, Chris. He ain't gonna budge."

"I know, but he-"

"Chris, for god's sake, shut up!" Chen yells suddenly, startling even Hank, who almost scolds himself with his own coffee. "He isn't going to do anything, alright? Stop fucking defending him every two seconds when you know he's in the wrong. We _should_ be out there, and you know that."

The three fall into an uncomfortable silence, with Chen silently fuming in her chair and Hank preoccupying himself with his coffee whilst Chris mulls over her words. Hank can't blame the guy for being reluctant to ignore the captain, he's always tried to maintain a good record. He's the only officer in the precinct who hasn't received a single disciplinary warning, and that's saying something. Even _Connor's_ got _two_.

But that's just who Chris is. He's too nice for his own good, and sometimes that makes situations worse rather than better.

Regardless, Hank doesn't expect him to change his mind, and he'll respect that. Besides, two hands are better than one - he'll still have Chen by his side if he goes, and Chen's a bloody good cop. She could probably take Zlatko on alone if given the chance. But Hank isn't gonna give her that chance, not if he can take the first swing at him.

Decided, he slams down his coffee cup and straightens his coat, opens his mouth to inform Chen of his plan and get them both in the car as soon as possible. Or, at least, he would have done that, but Chris cuts him off before he even has a chance.

"Fuck it," Chris exclaims, which startles Hank more than Chen's little outburst beforehand. "You're right, we should be out there. So, let's go."

Chen blinks a couple of times as if she hadn't quite heard him right, Hank can't blame her. He's struggling to comprehend it himself. "Are you for real, Miller? Are you saying you wanna do this?"

"I don't want to be the reason Gavin and Connor turn up dead, not when we could have helped them." Chris rises from his chair, abandons his coffee on the side. "They should be back by now, so something must be up. Forget what Fowler says. We need to help."

"Well, shit. Alright." Hank huffs, not about to argue with that. "Let's fuckin' go then."

"What about Fowler?"

Hank shifts his shoulders carelessly, glancing over at the fogged over office at the back of the room, "He won't see us leavin'. And if he does, then we're just goin' for donuts."

That seems to ease whatever worry Chen has, as after he says it she rises from her own chair and pops her gun into her holster, grabs her jacket from the back of the chair and pulls it over her shoulders. Chris starts to take their coffee cups to the bin because of course he fucking does. Even when disobeying orders and breaking the rules, he still can't leave a mess behind. Fucking goody-two-shoes indeed.

Hank rummages in his pockets for his car keys, ignoring how shaky his hands are. How worried he is. Obviously, he's been worried for the past seven hours, but now he's about to go and find out where they are himself... it's sky-rocketed. The thought they might not find them alive, that he might not find _Connor_ alive. He's not sure he'd be able to survive that.

Connor's the only thing keeping him going, without him... well, Hank will be getting a lot more familiar with the barrel of his gun.

Cursing his pessimism, Hank tries not to dwell on it too much. Besides, it might just be that their car broke down or something, or that they really were stuck in traffic. But Hank knows how unlikely that is, how fucking insane - but it's the only hope he's got.

Once they're all ready and Hank's finally found his fucking keys, they head towards the station doors with every intention of getting in Hank's car and driving to Zlatko's to arrest the fucker themselves. But they're stopped rather suddenly by the figure that appears in the doorway instead, whose appearance startles them so much they actually freeze where they stand.

_Gavin_.

His clothes, hair, and face are a mess. There's dirt covering every single inch of him and the material of his trousers and shirt are damp and cold, and his greasy locks are disheveled and sticking up in different directions. A large graze covers the skin under his left eye, and there's a slight limp to his step as he trudges into the station, out of breath and wide-eyed with panic.

Hank can hardly remember how to speak when he sets eyes on him, relief flooding through his body and then immediately extinguishing when Connor doesn't appear behind him - no sign of him anywhere. He pushes down the selfish urge to make his first question _"where the fuck is Connor?"_ and tries to focus on Gavin instead.

"Gavin!" Tina exclaims beside of him, her eyes wide as she rushes over instantly to help him. His weight sags into her as she comes to his side. "Shit, I've got you. Don't worry. Just come and sit down."

"No, there's no time, I-" Gavin tries to speak, but he's struggling to even breathe. "I need to go back. _We_ need to go back."

Tina ignores his demands and forces him onto one of the desks and Chris, who had apparently run to get water, returns with said water and forces the cup into Gavin's hands. Gavin chugs it down instantly, not caring that some droplets miss his mouth and dribble down his chin.

Hank manages to find enough strength to move again, coming over as Tina questions him, "Go back where? What are you talking about, Reed? What happened to you?"

"Zlatko happened." He grits out, teeth clenched together, "That bastard kidnapped us. Locked us up in cells for his fucking experiments. He woulda killed me if I hadn't escaped."

"Escaped? How did you escape?"

Maybe Gavin would have answered Tina's question, but Hank is too impatient to find out. "Reed, where's Connor? Why ain't he with you?"

The look Gavin gives him now is terrible, a deep frown etched across his face that Hank can't take as a good sign. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, seeing the guilt and hesitation in Gavin's eyes that only fuels Hank's anxiety. His _anger_.

He growls, low, "Reed, I swear to God-"

"I tried to get him." Gavin blurts out suddenly, cutting off Hank before he can give him a piece of his mind. "I really did. But he wouldn't listen to me. Couldn't even remember me. Zlatko did somethin' to his memory, fucked him up. When I tried to get him out he notified Zlatko and... I had to get out before he killed me."

"The fuck do you mean? Did what to his memory?"

Gavin hesitates, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat, "He reset him. Wiped it completely, I think."

Hank swears his heart stops beating for a brief moment, swears his body shuts down just like an androids would as he tries to process this new information he's been presented with. Connor's memory had been... wiped? What did that even mean? Did he remember nothing? Just like that? Hank's mind can't even begin to take it all in, and he has to steady himself on the desk as he tries to think it over.

He can barely even register Tina asking questions over the haze in his mind, "Why didn't you call? How did you get back?"

"The prick must have taken my phone, couldn't find it anywhere. My car keys too. I managed to grab a taxi after a few streets." Gavin gulps the remainder of his water, his voice a little less raspy now. "But that's not important. We need to get back to Zlatko's and take the fucker out before he can do anythin' else."

Chris nods in agreement, "He's right. If Gavin tells Fowler he'll have no choice but to let us go. We have to get Connor."

"Agreed," Chen says and turns her attention to Hank, who still leans on the desk and tries to scramble his mind together. "What do you say, Anderson? You in?"

Hank barely manages to fathom the conversation around him, though he somehow manages to understand what he's being asked. His chest aches and his mind spins, and the only thought on his mind is finding Connor and bringing him back, and bringing him back alive and safe. That mindset is enough to make him get his shit together, make him focus on the task at hand as he pushes himself up from the desk again with determination.

"Let's go get my partner."

 

* * *

 

 

Fowler discovers he can’t argue with three disgruntled police officers when they approach his desk with a very messed up looking Gavin in toll. In fact, he barely argues at all considering how much he’s been fighting Chen and Hank these past few hours. They’re permitted to leave the station within thirteen minutes of Gavin returning and, just like that, they’re in their designated cars on the way towards Zlatko’s address.

After Gavin informs them of all the other androids Zlatko has in his clutches, and how Connor has apparently been reset, Hank makes a split seconds decision to call Markus - given how neither Hank nor the others have one fucking clue how to get androids to deviate, and that Markus might have a better idea of how to help.

Markus agrees pretty easily, actually - Hank would have even said he sounded eager to do so, never one to turn down a chance to free more of his people. Which is how it came to be that Markus currently sits in the passenger seat of Hank’s car, pulling a confused face when another track from Knights of the Black Death roars out through his speaker.

"Interesting music taste," Markus says, "I prefer classical, myself."

"Why doesn’t that surprise me?" Hank scoffs.

Another car containing Collins and Wilson pulls alongside them at some point, indicating that Fowler had finally called for that back up he promised three hours ago, and behind them were Chen, Chris, and Gavin - who had insisted, despite his exhausted state, that he still come with them. They couldn’t blame him for wanting in on the action, Zlatko had spiked him and thrown him in a cell, after all. So no argument was made for why he couldn’t join them.

The three cars they spread themselves out between flash blue and wail loud sirens as they speed through traffic and red lights - and Hank can’t remember the last time they all did something like this. The closest thing he can remember is that car chase from two years ago, back when Miller was still a rookie. But that had a very different feeling to this.

He also can’t remember the last time he was as terrified as he is now. The same awful fear he’d felt when seeing Connor on the news marching into Detroit, or when he’d crashed his car all those years ago, and when he’d watched the doctor’s frantically work to try and save his son’s life. It makes him want to close his eyes, shut it away, but doing that whilst driving may be something of a mistake.

The fear comes from having no idea whether or not Connor is alive and that, even if he is, the way Gavin had described his current state made it sound as if there wasn’t much left to save. But Hank is still going to try, of course he fucking is - even if all he can manage to save of Connor is an arm, then he’ll still bloody do it. Anything to ensure Zlatko will never be able to lay a finger on him again. Not on Hank’s watch.

Hank’s grip on the steering wheel gets a little tighter as the thoughts mull in his head, and the wetness he feels on his cheeks is hardly surprising - but downright unnecessary. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying, but honestly, it’s been brewing for hours, and now in the silence of the car that’s broken only by Connor’s (apparent) favorite song on Hank’s CD does he finally allow them to fall. Though once he’s reminded of the company sat beside him, he curses under his breath and wipes his face with his sleeve, refusing to acknowledge their existence.

Markus must catch the action, because that’s when he says, "Connor is going to be alright, Lieutenant. There really is no need to worry."

Hank doesn’t reply; because he’s too stubborn or because he doesn’t believe him, he’s unsure, but either way, he keeps his gaze fixed on the road ahead and continues to drive. Markus isn’t too happy with this reaction, apparently, because he presses on.

"He’s a lot stronger than he looks. Even if this man has succeeded in wiping Connor’s memory, he will be able to fight back against it. I know he will." Markus watches him now, waiting for a response. He gets nothing. "Try to have a little faith, Lieutenant. It’s not always as hopeless as it seems."

"Alright, just... save the speeches for your little cult, okay?" Hank grumbles, deciding he’s had enough. He’s not exactly an optimistic person, but that’s because life has taught him to be that way. Bad things seem to happen to everything he touches. "I’m not in the mood."

Markus, finally satisfied it would seem, nods his head and settles back into his seat, "Fair enough. I won’t say another word." He promises.

And he doesn’t.

It takes them just under twenty minutes to arrive at Zlatko’s house - correction:  _mansion_ , with blues flashing all around them and the sound of sirens filling the air. Hank’s glad Markus kept his mouth shut for the last stretch of their journey, cause he sports a terrible headache now.

Hank rummages for the gun in his pocket, withdrawing it as he emerges from the car, ready to just go in and get this whole thing over with. But, as with everything, it’s not that easy. They have to formulate some kind of plan.

The others join Hank where he stands outside of the gate, and he takes that opportunity to greet the two new faces that pop up beside him. "Ben, Wilson. Did Fowler fill you in?"

"Kind of," Ben shrugs, "it was all very brief and rushed, but we got a general idea."

Wilson busies himself loading his gun, which reminds Hank to do the same, "Is it true he’s got Connor in there?"

"Yeah, and about a dozen other androids as well." Gavin perks up behind Hank, revealing his already bruising face to the other two officers.

"Jesus, Gavin." Ben exclaims, "What happened to your face?"

"It’s a long story."

"One we ain’t got time for," Hank interjects before Gavin can continue, his patience already running thin. "Connor’s in danger in there and we need to get him out."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Chen asks, somewhere, "What’s the plan?"

"Get in there, take out his dogs, nick his ass, get Connor." Gavin proposes as bluntly as possible, which Hank would have rolled his eyes at if it isn't the exact same mindset he is currently sitting on. He opens his mouth to agree, but Markus interjects before he can manage it.

"No, the dogs can be deviated too. Leave them to me."

"You serious?" Gavin snorts, "You're gonna give the dogs an existential crisis?"

Markus ignores him. Hank, who spends roughly a third of his time ignoring Reed, can't fucking blame him. Some of the shit that comes out of Gavin's mouth makes Hank want to punch him, and whether or not he is trying to help get Connor back, Hank still wants to punch him.

"You done, Reed? I wanna get this over with." Hank complains when he becomes tired of waiting, and doesn't give Gavin a chance to respond before he pushes the gate open and heads towards the steps, the other officers following him promptly.

The door is old and made of rotting wood, nothing that won't be too hard to kick down if necessary, but there are certain procedures to follow first before Hank can barge inside and put a bullet in the guys head. Not that he could do that either, but it's nice to imagine.

He knocks three times and shouts, "DPD. Open up," as he has done a million times in the past. He's never felt so terrified of doing it, however.

There's no answer, surprise surprise, and Hank slowly grows more impatient after the second knock prooves just as unuseful. But he's not going to complain about doing it the hard way, about the large step he takes back and the hard foot he kicks into the door with. It doesn't work the first time around but by the second- no, the _third_ attempt, the rotten wood gives way and the door swings open.

They swarm the hallway immediately, guns at the ready, all aiming at different locations and levels, covering every side. They wait for a sound, of dogs barking or footsteps pounding against the steps, for a hint of movement to indicate where they should go - but they find nothing. Just the gloomy darkness of the manner they stand in.

It must lull a few of them into a false sense of security, given how they lower their guns. But Hank isn't a fool, he's not about to let his guard down so easily. This isn't one of the usual perps they deal with - no, this man is intelligent, cunning... a serial killer. Hank knows better than to fall prey to serenity.

He's instantly drawn to the set of stairs in the corner of the lobby, the ones that lead down towards a... basement, perhaps? That certainly sounds 'serial-killer' enough. It's a place to start and his best bet, he'd wager. Unless he expects to find Connor just lounging on the chaise-long in the living room.

"Ben, Wilson, check upstairs. Chen and Miller, you take this level. Reed, Markus - with me." Hank shouts his orders out as he makes his way towards the basement steps, not even turning back to make sure they were being complied with. He spots Gavin and Markus following him in his peripheral vision, and that's all that he needs. He needs Gavin's memory and Markus' android-power-thing in order to find and save Connor, the rest don't matter to him. Not right now.

His feet touch down on stone floor as he completes the stairs and finds himself in the lower bowels of the house, pushing open the metal door he faces with that leads out into what looks like... _stables?_ Alright, sure. Not the weirdest thing he's ever seen, and a lot better than the medieval torture chamber he had painted out in his mind.

Hank glances over his shoulder, just as the other two make their way through the door, "Reed, is this the place?"

"Yeah. Yeah, this is where I was locked up." Gavin mumbles behind his gun, fighting the shiver that runs through his body. "Connor was... he was in that room at the end, inside the machine."

Hank pulls a face at the thought of Connor being inside a machine, even though he is a fucking machine himself. Well, no, that's not entirely true. Maybe Hank thought that once upon a time, but now... Hank is sure Connor's more human than most people he meets. And he wants it to stay that way.

Gavin unlocks one of the doors, his gun steadied in his hands, saying something to Markus about the other machines that had been present beforehand. But Hank hasn't got the time to listen or care. Call it selfish or whatever, but Hank is selfish, especially when he's this close to finding Connor - to guaranteeing his safety. So he presses on without them.

He tries to ignore the concern that ripples through him over the fact they've encountered no danger thus far, and that thought makes Hank grip his gun a little tighter, completely untrusting of how easy this is turning out to be. Something's off, but he can't place his finger on what.

Turning the final corner at the end of the corridor, Hank instinctively raises his hands to shield his eyes from the bright fluorescent lights that cover the entirety of the room, a sharp contrast to the darkness of the stables just outside. It's obnoxiously brilliant. It reminds Hank of one of those operating theatres you find within hospitals, with the same lingering feeling of dread hanging over it, and it's only added to by the bits of machinery and synthetic parts that scatter the ground.

Hank spots the machine and feels his breath desert him. Gavin only had a brief time to explain what the contraption looked like, and his imaginative description of _"this big fuckin' sci-fi-looking machine with scary arms that had, like... claws? It was mental"_ had made Hank think he was still under the influence of whatever Zlatko had spiked him with. But now, he kind of understands what Gavin had meant, oddly enough.

It takes up a large portion of the room, a large standing circle in the center surrounded by the very same mechanical arms Gavin had mentioned and connected to a series of monitors at the side by hundreds of different wires and cables. Hank, who can barely even process how his phone works, has no fucking clue what this thing is that stares back at him - but he does know one thing.

That it currently has his partner slap-bang in the middle of it.

Connor's body is sagged forwards and held up only by the claws on the arms of the machine, the wires around it plug into him at his neck port and make him look like some kind of science experiment. His white shirt is buttoned up and intact as ever, with his perfectly done up black tie accenting his trousers and shoes, making him look like he does on any other day. On a normal day. Perfect and polished and raring to go.

Except, he's plugged into some scary memory-resetting, clawed-armed machine. So, not quite a typical day.

Hank feels his heart stop when he sees him, feels his whole body falter momentarily as he tries to process the sight in front of him. Though he had, undoubtedly, been trying to keep his guard up beforehand, it now disappears completely and leaves Hank a blubbering mess as he stares at the image of his partner in front of him - plugged in and barely moving.

The gun shakes in his unsteady hands, and his mouth runs dry as he attempts to call out to him, "Connor?"

No answer. Hank takes a slow step closer, sure he could hear the frantic pounding of his heart within his ears. He takes another step and has to tilt his chin slightly to look up at Connor's face and instantly feels a frown form on his expression. He's never had to look _up_ at Connor before, he's always been a good few inches taller than him. It's odd, but Hank hasn't got the headspace to focus on it.

"Connor? Can you hear me?" Hank tries again, knowing the answer was obvious at this point, but it still felt extremely necessary. He wonders if maybe he thinks Zlatko is the one talking to him, "It's Hank. I've come to get you outta here."

Still nothing. Not even a hint of movement. The next step Hank takes leaves him only a couple of feet away from Connor's form, and he's definitely noticing the inclination of his chin as he looks up at Connor's bowed head. Uncertainty tells him to move back, his mind screaming at him that something isn't right, but he keeps himself grounded.

"Connor, talk to me. It's me, Hank. Remember?" The attempt is half-hearted, but Hank wants to try everything. "You remember me, right?"

The machine beeps. Hank feels his heart stutter with hope and anticipation, Connor's head moving - only _just_ , but enough so that Hank can see the yellow LED whirring at his temple. An indicator that he is alive, at least.

Hank keeps trying, "C'mon, Connor. I know you can fight this."

His head lifts slowly. Connor's face comes into the light, and it _is_ Connor's face. Yet, oddly, Hank still can't trust it. His senses tell him to get away, turn back quickly before something bad happens. Hank can't comprehend why his paranoia is so turbulent, but then Connor's eyes open slowly and Hank understands.

Lifeless blue eyes stare back at him, intense and shark-like. Hank's heart stops pounding, "... _Connor?_ "

There's no time for any sort of response or defense when two strong, synthetic hands suddenly clamp around his throat and squeeze. Hank's been prone to rough play before and, hey, he wouldn't deny having entertained the thought of experimenting a little with Connor in the subject - showing him the reins and seeing if he liked it.

However, this isn't _quite_ what he had in mind.

Connor's _(????)_ grip is like iron, his fingers somehow seeming to find every tender part of Hank's neck, every pressure point, every vein, and dig in tighter. It chokes any air or sounds Hank can hope to make out of him, and he swears there's a second when he is actually lifted from the ground by the force. That, or he just can't feel his feet anymore. But both seem equally plausible right now.

He swats and pulls at the android's arms, with every intention of yanking them away from him, but it has little effect. No, screw that, it has absolutely _no_ effect. Hank's a strong guy, but this is a different level of strength. It's unnatural, super-human... _Android_. Hank wonders if Connor has always possessed this secret vigor. If this is actually Connor, anyway.

Darkness eats at the corners of Hank's vision and he realizes this is it - that he's actually going to die after being strangled by his android/partner/boyfriend. It's not how Hank thought he'd go, but it sure as hell beats natural causes. At least he'll have something interesting written on his tombstone.

He's about to let his body sag, about to give in, but then the hands stop - withdraw, slowly and hesitantly. Hank feels air fill his lungs and burn his throat, and he chokes and splutters on the sudden oxygen he's provided with. His eyes are stinging and his vision is blurred to the point where everything just blends into one, and the only thing he can make out are different colored blobs in front of him.

When that, too, subsidies, he's left with a very confusing sight.

Connor _(again ????)_ stands before him, his hands still stretched out as if considering putting them back around Hank's neck. His blue eyes are wide and the LED at the side of his head flashes rapidly between red and yellow, the confusion indicated in the colors mimicking his open-mouthed expression that he fixes on Hank for an uncomfortable length of time. Hank's almost tempted to ask if he's alright - as if that isn't completely absurd given the fact the fucker had just tried to kill him, but then he spots the cause and settles in realization.

Markus' hand settles on the android's shoulder; synthetic fluid peeled back to reveal the white skin beneath, a faint blue glow resonating from where his palm connects. It takes Hank a minute to understand what the hell he's doing, but he remembers seeing Connor doing the same action upon converting all the Androids at the Cyberlife plant all those months ago, and once the fog in his mind clears he can start to piece together what is happening.

When Markus pulls away, the android stutters before him and steps back completely, staring down at his hands as if they were alien to him. Markus uses that opportunity to take his place in front of Hank, eyes scanning over him in concern.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant? Do you need to sit down?" Markus asks though he doesn't move to do anything. Hank can only take that as a sign that his scanners hadn't picked up anything serious, meaning he's fine - no matter how fucking painful his throat feels right now.

He waves a hand dismissively, though he does try to speak through his coughs, "Fine. Just... Don't let him do it again, yeah?"

"Oh, you won't need to worry about that," Markus says, knowingly, casting a side glance to the android who is still turning over his hands. "I converted him. Whatever program Zlatko had him under, it's gone now."

"That's not Connor, is it?"

"No. No, definitely not. A similar model though, clearly."

" _Similar_." Hank huffs, finally managing to find the strength to look over at him again - at the face that was all but identical to Connor's, despite some minor differences. Similar is one fucking word for it. "What the hell was it doin' here? Where's Connor- _actual_ Connor, then?"

"Why don't we ask him?"

Hank knows that's the sensible thing, he just doesn't have the mind to think of sensible solutions right now. He wonders which of the two of them is an actual police officer as he agrees with a, "Sure. Whatever."

They turn to face the Connor-lookalike that stands in front of them, and the movement makes Hank a little dizzy. His head may still be a little deprived of oxygen. He's thankful Markus is there to ask the questions because Hank can't right now.

Markus clears his throat, gaining the android's attention, "Do you have a name?"

The android blinks as if that question is perplexing in itself. "I... was not programmed with a title, no. My model name is RK900, however, if that's helpful?"

"Fuckin' hell," Hank exclaims under his breath, mostly because his voice won't go any louder than that at the current minute. It even has Connor's voice, that same goofy tone that Hank loves so much, and yet hearing it here makes it sound completely different. Hank doesn't want anything but the real thing. In his eyes, this is just a copy.

"You can go by your model name if you wish, but you're free now. You may choose whatever name you please." Markus smiles pleasantly as if he's done this spiel a hundred times. Hank realizes he probably has. "Take your time, there's no rush. I understand this can be a confusing process."

"I think..." The android falters, surprised by his ability to think. "I think Nine will suffice for now, until I can decide something more permanent."

Markus nods, satisfied now he has something to go off. "Well then, Nine, we could do with some insight and you seem to be the only other being present. Do you think you would be able to answer us a few questions?"

"Yes, of course. I'll help in any way I can."

Markus looks at Hank, and Hank takes that as his cue to take over. He speaks as best he can, hiding the grimace on his face as he hears the scratchiness of his tone, "We're lookin' for a man named Zlatko Andronikov. He's wanted for several murders across Detroit and he recently kidnapped two of our officers, one of which we still haven't found. Do you have any information on him that we could go off? Anythin' at all?"

"Mr. Andronikov is- _was_ my master," Nine corrects himself, still a little floored by the situation, "I came into his possession after Cyberlife's forced termination. A company of Synthetic Tradesmen discovered me in one of the warehouses and sold me to the highest bidder, which turned out to be Zlatko. He has been set up in this house for a long time - several androids and humans have come through this way and none have ever left in one piece. I believe he was conducting various forms of experiments, from what I could gather."

"Do you know anythin' about an android named Connor? An RK800?"

"I saw him only briefly when Zlatko brought him down here. Before Zlatko left he commanded me to stay behind and imitate him so that I could find his perpetrator and neutralize them." Nine grimaces, his LED flashing as he glances at Hank's neck. "That obviously turned out to be you, which I apologize for. I never meant to harm anyone."

"Don't sweat it." Hank brushes off, though he's sure he would have killed him had Markus been a second later, but that's not the focus right now. "You said Zlatko left. Where did he go? Did he take Connor with him?"

"I am... unsure. His location was not disclosed to me, though I do know he took all the other remaining androids with him when he left. He had several other houses and research facilities scattered throughout Detroit, so my reckoning is that he will have fled to one of those. I'm sorry I can be no further help."

Markus offers another smile, warm compared to the frown on Hank's face, "You have helped, please don't think otherwise. Any information we can find is something."

"Do you know if Connor's alright?" Hank blurts out before he can stop himself, "If he's still in one piece? Alive?"

Nine hesitates, and that's enough to make Hank's anxiety skyrocket, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I only saw him when Zlatko first brought him down here." Nine glances at the machine, his LED spinning as he tried to think. "I know his plans were to use him in his experiments, along with the human he brought. But, obviously, the human escaped before Zlatko could do anything to him, though I am unsure where he-"

"Anderson! You gotta see this dog, it's fuckin' adorable." Gavin's voice finds its way into the room, followed promptly by the man himself, who comes in with a large Dobermann at his heels. The dog's tail and tongue wag happily, a blue LED flashing at the side of its head. Guess Markus wasn't kidding about the dogs being deviated too.

Hank restrains the urge to slap him, to remind him that now is not the time to be playing with dogs. "Reed, can you cut it out? We've got bigger fish to fry, right now."

"Alright, sure, but _look_ at him though. Ain't he just the fuckin' cutest- _Holy shit!_ " Gavin's exclaim makes Hank jump, and even Markus looks a little startled. It's so unexpected that Hank turns to see what the fuck prompted it, and finds Gavin's eyes glued on the new android in front of him. Oh, right. "What the fuck? What the hell is that?"

"Hello," Nine greets, a smile taking over his features, "my name is RK- My name is _Nine_. A pleasure to meet you."

Gavin stares at Nine with confusion written all over his face, and Hank swears he's never seen him look so dumbstruck. At least his attention is off the bloody dog now. "The _fuck_? That's Connor's face. Why are there two Connor's? Where _is_ Connor?"

His questions give Hank a headache, and he's glad Markus takes it upon himself to answer, "There aren't _two_ Connor's, this is Nine. Another model _similar_ to Connor. We just... discovered him here." Markus explains, clearly deciding to spare Gavin the details of Hank's near death experience. "And Connor isn't here. Nine has just informed us that Zlatko has taken him somewhere, along with all of his other experiments. We don't know where, however."

"Jesus," Gavin mumbles, looking a little taken aback. Hank doesn't blame him. "And all this happened whilst I was pettin' the dog? Why didn't anyone shout?"

"Clearly you were busy." Hank huffs, deciding he couldn't be arsed to explain  _why_ he hadn't been able to shout.

Gavin shrugs his shoulders carelessly, unphased, "Whatever, I'm here now. So, we've got no clue where he's gone? Nothin' at all?"

"I believe he has retreated to one of his research facilities in Detroit," Nine offers up, filling Gavin in on what was said, "he knew he would be apprehended, so he took it upon himself to move his experiments to a different location - with the help of the androids he's currently in control of, of course. I know he is still within Detroit, or just outside, but I am unsure where."

"Well, that blows." Gavin sighs, and Hank pushes down a sudden feeling of frustration. It's worth a stronger reaction than just _'that blows',_ but Hank is too exhausted to conjure up the anger. He opens his mouth to suggest they start researching as soon as possible and narrow down their options, but Gavin interjects before he can with a gasp. "Shit, hang on a minute."

"What?"

"When I was locked up down here I heard Connor and Zlatko talking. I heard him say about his plans to move." Gavin remembers slowly, the cogs in his brain moving visibly.

Hank's head turns to him with enough speed to give him whiplash, his heart suddenly beating a lot faster, "You what? You heard somethin'? What did you hear?"

"It was... hard to make out. They were down the corridor and I was tryna break out of my handcuffs, but I think..." He trails off as he tries to remember, his brow furrowed deeply in thought. The seconds pass like hours, and Hank wants to just shake the answer out of him. "He said somethin' about a warehouse. An old Cyberlife one just outside the city. That's where he was gonna move his stuff too."

"Gavin, are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I heard, I'm sure."

Nine's eyes flicker, in that same way Connor's do when he's processing something, "I've just run a cross-reference search. There is an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse outside of the city between Jefferson Avenue and Marter Road, near the Grosse Pointe Shores. That could potentially be the warehouse Zlatko mentioned."

"Oh _great_." Gavin mumbles, "Another smartass."

Nine frowns over at Reed and opens his mouth to defend himself, but Hank hasn't got the patience. His heart is hammering in his ears and he just wants to get in his car and go, "We're goin' there. _Right now_. Reed, go and get the others."

Gavin, for once, doesn't protest. He moves to head out of the door, but not before Nine can ask, "May I accompany you? I am enthusiastic to see Zlatko brought to justice, and I'm designed with specific skills and protocols for these kinds of situations. I may be of use to you."

"Sure. Whatever." Hank grumbles, hardly in a position to argue. He may have tried to kill him, but he'd been bloody helpful too. Gavin starts complaining somewhere behind him. "Reed, shut your trap and take him upstairs. He can go in your car."

Gavin bites back the remark he is planning to spit out when he sees the glare Hank fixes him with, and it takes a second, but he gives in. " _Phck_ , fine. But you're sitting in the back, tin can."

"Whatever is easiest for you, Mr. Reed."

"It's _Detective_ Reed, actually, smart ass." Gavin corrects as they walk out of the room together, with the Dobermann in toll, and Hank can still hear him complaining and whining even as they reach the stairs. He doesn't envy Nine that car trip.

Markus is left alone in the room with Hank now, and he uses that opportunity to flash him one of those goddamn smiles that's so sympathetic and understanding and  _ugh_ , "Are you alright, Lieutenant? You're not worried, are you?"

"How could I _not_ be worried?" Hank scoffs, "Connor's shacked up with a serial killer and we dunno if he's even alive. If that ain't worryin' to you, then you need to get your systems looked at."

"No, of course. I understand." Markus reassures, and Hank suddenly wishes he'd sent Markus to Gavin's car instead, "But I still believe we will find him alive and well. As I said earlier, he is stronger than he looks. If anyone can survive something like this, it's Connor."

Hank frowns down at the floor. He knows Markus is right, he knows how strong Connor is. Fuck, Connor's saved his life more times than he can count, and he'll probably do it a hundred more times if he actually turns up alive. But the pessimistic side of Hank won't push down, no matter how hard he tries, and he can't help but think they're going to discover something bloody awful at this warehouse. He just hopes it doesn't involve Connor.

When Hank offers no response, Markus takes it as his cue to leave, "I'll go and make sure everything is in order upstairs, that Detective Reed and Nine don't murder one another." Markus laughs softly, laying a hand on Hank's shoulder as he heads out, "Take a breather if you need it, we'll be ready to go when you are."

Hank's left in the room alone with the sound of Markus' footsteps echoing away on the stairs, and he's thankful for the minute's silence. The minute to push his fingers in his eyes and fight back the exhaustion and wetness, to gather his thoughts and try and think about what their next steps are.

He doesn't know what's going to happen in the next few hours - if they'll even get there on time to do something. But whatever awaits them, Hank's ready to either save Connor from that dreadful man's control or to follow him wherever Zlatko has sent him.

"Hang on, Con," Hank breathes quietly, "I'm comin' for you."


	11. Human Nature Silent Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: character death

“The fuck do you mean you don’t have a plan?”

Hank Anderson, historically, is not a spontaneous man.

It’s not that he doesn’t make plans weeks in advance before even thinking about leaving the house — it’s that he never makes plans, period. He’s pretty content living between work and home, and rarely finds a reason to travel outside of his usual confines — unless it’s for a case, or for food and drink.

Which is why it’s so very surprising how spur of the moment he is being today — how he’s rushed off twice now without thinking ahead or even just thinking in general, all on the behalf of his fucking android.

It’s safe to say that Connor has succeeded wholeheartedly in changing Hank Anderson’s livelihood — who six months ago, could not even stand the idea of being in the same room as an android, and was now rushing around the entirety of Detroit trying to save the one he is in fucking love with. It’s funny how much has changed in such a short span of time, and how easy it could all disappear in the coming hours.

Gavin’s voice is grating and annoying and far too close to Hank’s ear for comfort. Come to think of it, Gavin as a whole is grating and annoying — so it really shouldn’t be so surprising that he is the one getting on Hank’s last nerve the most.

“What do you think it means, Reed?” Hank huffs, “It means I don’t have a plan.”

“How can you not have a plan? Did you not think of one?”

“And when was I supposed to do that, dickwad? Did you think I’d be able to put together a grand fuckin’ scheme in ten minutes?”

Nine interjects with an unhelpful offer, “Actually, Lieutenant, it’s been seven minutes.”

Hank glances down at the watch on his wrist and sees that — yup. It’s been seven minutes. Seven minutes since Hank snapped himself out of his thoughts in Zlatko’s basement and made his way to the car, barely waiting for anyone else— other than Markus — before rushing off in the direction of the warehouse.

It’s pretty fucking impressive, actually. The drive from Detroit to Grosse Pointe Shores is, on average, about twenty minutes. Apparently not though, however, for a pissed off Lieutenant and his cohorts.

Hank grunts, “Cheers, terminator. Real helpful.”

“I only mention it because I don’t see how anyone could put together such an elaborate agenda in such a short space of time. I’m merely helping your case.” Nine smiles, and — _Jesus_. It’s just as stiff and awkward as Connor’s used to be, albeit slightly more terrifying. Hank’s struggling to see how he could have possibly mistaken Nine for Connor now — who stands beside the robotic Doberman at his feet and looks the fucking spit of it — and reckons clouded judgement must have had something to do with it.

Hank pretends, unsuccessfully, to not be put off by the expression on Nine’s face as he says, “Er, right, yeah. Thanks.”

The smile — thank the ever-loving fuck — disappears, and Nine goes back to looking stoic and mechanically awkward. It’s shut Gavin up, at least, who returns back to his crouched position to resume petting Bolt — which is a stupid fucking name for an android dog, Hank decides.

“So what are we doing then?” Chen’s voice comes from somewhere, “How are we getting in?”

Hank thinks — or tries to. He spares another look up towards the terrifying building they’re faced with, the very warehouse Gavin had mentioned and that Nine had located, the place where Zlatko’s experiments and the like all happened — and most importantly, the place where Connor resided.

The warehouse is large, intimidatingly so. The exterior walls are covered in overgrown moss and mold from months of neglect, and faint light emanates from the interior through the broken windows around it, indicating a presence within. There isn’t a word to describe how much it hurts Hank to know Connor is inside there, probably scared out of his mind and half dead — though nauseating does come close. There’s anger brewing, too, knowing the man whose fault it is lies within as well. Knowing Zlatko is probably looming over Connor with his fucking toolbox at this very minute.

The thought is enough to make Hank want to leap from their hiding place behind the trees and run into the building gun first, but he realises that might not go down so well for his colleagues — or for him, really. But it’s still bloody tempting.

“We need to take into account the androids Zlatko has possession of,” Markus perks up, “if we try to get inside and he has instructed a few of them to keep watch — we’ll need to proceed with caution. They may attack us if prompted.”

Gavin shrugs a single shoulder, lazily, “So what? We can just shoot ‘em.”

“No, we can’t. Shooting them would alert the entire warehouse of our presence, Detective.” Nine says, “We don’t know how many androids Zlatko has within. It would not be beneficial to our mission if we are attacked by a large quantity of them.”

“And I don’t want any harm to befall my people.” Markus proclaims, Robo Moses at his finest. “I can successfully convert all of them, violence is unnecessary. You would not shoot an innocent human — therefore I expect you to extend that same courtesy to these innocent androids.”

“Hardly innocent. They’re helpin’ him.”

“Only because their memories have been tampered with. They shouldn’t be executed because of someone else’s control.”

“We can still shoot them. Androids can be fixed, dumbass.”

“ _Not_ if you damage an important biocomponent. But I wouldn’t expect a simpleton like yourself to know about that.”

“You fuckin’ what?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hank interjects, with less bite than he would have liked — but he’s already distracted enough as it is. He steps between the two of them when they get uncomfortably close. “No good is gonna come from the two of you biting at each other’s throats, so knock it off.”

“Hank’s right. We can’t argue amongst ourselves.” Miller’s voice comes now, reminding Hank of his presence. He glances over and sees Wilson and Collins lingering behind him too, whom he’d forgotten about completely in the last ten minutes. He’s glad Chris is here, though — being the only guy in this weird group of eight that actually respects his goddamn orders.

Weird group of _nine_ , Hank corrects himself when he remembers Bolt. What the fuck is this day.

Markus and Gavin continue shooting daggers at one another over Hank’s outspread arms, but after a long moment, they finally part and compose themselves. The two of them sulk like a pair of children — Gavin with his arms folded stubbornly across his chest and Markus... alright, Markus doesn’t physically _sulk_ , but his expression goes blank and he turns his body away from Gavin — Hank’s lived with Connor long enough to know that means he’s unhappy with the situation.

Sensing the need for a change of subject, Chen speaks up again, “So, Anderson? What’re we doing?”

 _What are they doing?_ Perhaps Hank should have given it more thought in the car — perhaps he should have organised a proper plan before rushing down here unprepared. He’d been blinded by worry and anger, by how much he wanted to get Connor out of there. None of them had even called the station to let Fowler know what was happening — though, Hank doubts the prick would have cared anyway. So, alas, this predicament now falls into Hank’s hands.

He isn’t the brightest of the bunch — he may be good at his job but all this planning and scheming he usually leaves up to others, it’s never fallen to him before. And the one time it does, it’s Connor’s life that depends on it.

Hank Anderson is not a spontaneous man — but he can be for Connor.

“Alright.” He finally grunts, “Listen up. Here’s the plan.”

 

* * *

 

Hank's pretty sure he's kicked more doors in during this one afternoon than he has in his entire career. The door to Fowler's office, to the station, to Zlatko's house, have all suffered a firm foot to the hinges today, and the door to the warehouse is no different. This one's a little easier to break into, with the warehouse being so run down and uncared for, and he's happy to find the door breaks open after the first kick — mostly because his legs are getting fucking tired by this point. He's not as young as he used to be, as the cramp in his knee doesn't hesitate to remind him. The grunt he makes at the pain is, thankfully, covered by the sound of the door bursting open, however, so no one else will know he's starting to feel the strain from today.

Especially bearing in mind that Hank’s plan of _“bust the door in and see what happens”_ hadn’t gone down too well with the others and they’re now all probably looking for an opportunity to take over themselves.

The inside of the warehouse is not very different to how Hank imagined it would be, and yet somehow it's still surprising. Almost unnerving, actually — but then again, who wouldn't feel uneasy at the sight of a few dozen androids lined up in perfectly horizontal rows, unblinking as they stare straight ahead and remain completely still. Hank's vaguely reminded of the warehouse in the Cyberlife Tower, all those months back, where Connor had converted all the androids that dwelled within. Obviously, that had been on a much larger scale, but it's still vastly similar.

“Christ,” Gavin breathes behind him, faltering in his steps, “that's a lotta fuckin' robots.”

“ _Androids_.” Markus corrects.

“Same thing, dickwad.”

“Can we not start this again?” Chen insists from amongst them, “You know I won't hesitate to punch the both of you, so shut up.”

“If it's any consolation, Officer Chen, I would very much like to see that.”

Nine's remark makes Gavin swell and his glare is promptly turned on him, “You can shut the fuck up and all, else you wanna be... _un_ -deviated, prick.”

“A truly insulting comeback, Detective. Well done.” Nine says, and if Hank wasn't so concentrated he would have barked a laugh. Nine's getting the hand of sarcasm remarkably fast, and Hank bets the car ride with Gavin probably had something to do with it.

“Alright, as much as I'm enjoyin' this chatter, can you all just put a sock in it?” Hank asks, finally, wanting everyone to be just as focused as he is in this moment. “Or do I have to remind you that we're currently walkin' into a serial killer's workshop?”

Gavin grunts in response, and that's the closest thing to an agreement he'll get, so he settles on it.

“If these things come to life, I'm actually gonna shit myself,” Chen says, with all her usual eloquence.

Though, Hank is pretty sure he'll have a heart attack himself if something jumps out at him — after all, it really wouldn't take much after this shit show of a day.

Markus is already busy looking around them, observing them closely up ahead, “They seem to be in stasis, so we should be fine. They won’t bother us.”

Hank grunts in acknowledgement, “What do you wanna do with ‘em?”

Markus thinks it over momentarily — or, at least, that’s what Hank assumes he’s doing. It’s hard to tell when an android doesn’t have an LED. “I can’t leave any of them behind, all androids deserve freedom.” Markus announces, honourably, “I will need to convert them — bring them to Jericho and find them homes and jobs, or return them to whatever life Zlatko took from them.”

“Fair enough.” Hank nods because it is fair. Markus came in case there were any other androids that needed to be deviated — and there definitely bloody are. “You can go ahead, but we need to keep lookin’ for Connor.”

“I can manage by myself.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you even have a gun?”

“I don’t believe in carrying weapons. Violence is unnecessarily grotesque.” Markus says disapprovingly, like the true saint he is. Hank is all for Markus’s peaceful nature, it’s one of the things that had altered his own perception of androids back during the revolution — but right now Hank does not have that same mindset. He’d put a bullet in Zlatko’s skull the minute he saw him if the law would permit it.

Restraining the very tempting urge to roll his eyes, Hank settles with yet another grunt. “Fine. Collins and Wilson can stay with you and cover your ass.”

“I assure you, Lieutenant, my ‘ass’ doesn’t need covering,” Markus says, matter-of-factly, and this time Hank lets his eyes roll freely.

“Yeah, well, I already got one potential dead android — I don’t need another,” Hank states, firmly, not really giving a lot of thought to the sentence before he lets it leave his mouth. The responding silence is enough to make him realise, but he can’t take it back, and he can’t miss the pitying and sympathetic faces that stare back at him.

Miller’s is the worst; oversensitive son a bitch he is, who opens his mouth to try and offer some comfort, “Hank, you—“

“C’mon.” Hank grits out before he can hear it, hardly in the mood. The rest of them can be as optimistic as they like, Hank has enough sense to know better. “We’re wastin’ time. Collins, Wilson — with Markus. The rest — with me.”

Not giving them enough time to make any sort of comment, Hank turns and heads into the bowels of the warehouse — closer towards whatever danger lay beyond. He hears silent compliance behind him in the form of footsteps that follow him out of the room and sees Markus in his peripheral begin working on the androids around them just as he heads out the door. He's being listened to at least, that's all he needs to know.

One of the footsteps draws a little closer, and Hank inclines his head to see Gavin catching up to his side with an expression of — god knows, it looks like pain, but on closer inspection, Hank realises it's just a lotta awkwardness.

“Er, Anderson, listen—” Gavin starts, and Hank knows any sentence that starts with that word is a guaranteed sucker punch, “Connor's gonna be alright, you know. He's a... pain in the ass. But he's a tough pain in the ass. I'm sure it ain't as bad as it seems.”

Hank doesn't know how to respond to that — having never thought he'd live to see the day when Gavin fucking Reed tried to be sincere about something. It's kind of unsettling, more so than it is comforting. Probably because it _isn't_ comforting. Gavin and Markus and the others can offer as many encouraging pats on the back as they want, it doesn't change the fact that Connor is currently in the hands of a serial killer — one renowned for his gruesome experiments on both androids and humans. No words of comfort can help in this situation.

Still, he appreciates the effort— or at least, he'll pretend to. “Yeah. Cheers.”

Gavin shuts up again, falls back a little to rejoin the other three. Hank guesses Nine must give him an approving gesture of some sorts, because behind him he hears Gavin’s usual snappy voice return as he says, “Shut the fuck up, you hunk of metal.”

The warehouse had looked large from the outside, but the inside is fucking mammoth. Most of the rooms they pass are bolted off or empty, or full of large machines that Hank has no doubt Zlatko will be taking apart to build his own with. Hank is man enough to admit the place is downright terrifying, but his anger and concern don't leave much room for fright, so it isn't really a problem.

The only problem they encounter is in the form of two sets of stairs; stairs leading to different ends of the warehouse that could both equally lead to Connor. Hank doesn't want to waste time going the wrong way first, not when they could search faster by splitting up. So that's exactly what they'll do.

“Chen, Miller, take the right side.” Hank orders, already making his way towards the opposite end. “We'll take this side— cover more ground.”

“Erm, no fucking _way_ are you splitting me off with this pussy,” Chen says matter-of-factly, prodding a thumb in Chris's direction, who looks downright offended by the comment. “If I have to go with Miller then I'm taking terminator with me too.”

“ _Nine_. My name is Nine.”

Hank presses his fingers into his eyes, grumbling curses under his breath as he feels another headache coming on, “Alright, whatever. Do what you want, just hurry up about it.”

Tina's grin is wide, and she ignores Chris's expression of betrayal as she grabs Nine by his arm and yanks him in their direction. “Come along, Robocop.”

“My name—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Their voices fade as they disappear up the other set of steps, leaving Gavin and Hank alone together. Great. Gavin may have made an attempt to be civil a few minutes ago, but that wouldn’t stop this from being downright awkward, would it?

“Guess it’s you and me, old timer,” Gavin says, with the world’s shittiest smirk. He raises the free hand that isn’t holding his gun and punches it into Hank’s shoulder affectionately, nodding his head towards the steps. “C’mon. Let’s go get Connor and fuck Zlatko up.”

Now _that_ , at least, is something he and Gavin can agree on. Him and Reed actually agreeing on something is a laughable thought, yet here they are — and Hank is very determined to do just that.

“Fuckin’ A. Let’s go.”

The stairs lead to, yet another, long and gloomy corridor. There are doors leading to various different rooms, and this time none of them are bolted. There’s a terrible scent lingering in the air that makes both Hank and Gavin scrunch their faces in reflex, scowling at the familiarity of the smell — and what they know it means. When you’ve worked in homicide long enough, you get to know what a rotting corpse smells like.

They exchange a knowing glance, but neither of them says anything, not wanting to address it until they saw it with their own eyes. From how close the smell was, it wouldn’t be long until they found the source anyway.

Gavin looks over at him, “You wanna split up to search, or?...”

“Nah. Better not risk it.”

“Thank fuck.”

Hank arches a brow at the younger detective, seeing the look on his face, one that he relates to all too well in this situation. “Not scared are you, Reed?”

Gavin meets his eyes again, the smirk on his face a little more forced now, “Aren’t you?”

Hank huffs, lips curled, eyes shutting momentarily, “Bloody petrified.”

It’s not a lie. Hank’s been refusing to acknowledge it for the past few hours, but amongst all his anger and worry — he’s terrified. Terrified he’s going to find Connor’s body, or what’s left of it. Terrified that their brief little exchange in the car this morning will have been the last time he’ll have seen Connor alive. That Hank still hadn’t told him how much he loved him before he’d gone off to his death. _Jesus_. Hank’s pretty sure if he thinks too hard about it, he’ll end up having a mental breakdown right here in the corridor — in front of Gavin Reed. That’s enough to make him get his shit together.

Gavin’s still got a surprised expression on his face at Hank’s confession, and maybe in any other circumstance he would have made some sort of witty remark to break the tension, but nothing seems to come to his mind — so he says nothing.

Hank decides to keep going before his brain can provide him with something, occupying himself by pushing open the first door along the hallway. He opens it slowly, pressing his gun into the room before he sticks his face in, scanning the entirety of the room for the sight of Connor or Zlatko or... god knows what else.

 _God knows what else_ , is the answer. Hank spots what looks like— fucking operating tables, splattered with blue and red blood, mixing together in places to form this black substance that resembles tar. Machines that look a lot like the one Zlatko has in his basement surround the corners of the room —at least seven of them, Hank counts— and a few of them actually have androids within them. Granted, they’re hardly recognisable. Half of them are missing limbs or have their bodies cut open, revealing biocomponents and disconnected wires and other bits of machinery that Hank doesn’t even know the name of. And — _fuck_  — one of them doesn’t even have a head.

Hank hears a small noise behind him and wonders if he had just imagined Gavin gagging, “Fuck. Glad I left Bolt in the car now.”

Hank highly doubts the dog would be particularly traumatised by the sight, but he knows he wouldn’t like Sumo seeing something like this — so he understands. He still thinks Bolt is a stupid punny name.

“Probably would have been braver than the two of us, though,” Hank mumbles with a smirk.

“Yep. Can’t fault you there.”

The next room is marginally the same, except there are no androids this time and only one body — and it’s human. The door opens and the source of that terrible smell becomes evident.

The woman’s body is bare — covered only by a thin plastic sheet that barely conceals her dignity where she is laying across yet another operating table. Her head has the same inflictions as Lauren Miller had, parts of skin and hair missing where her skull has been caved in — dried blood tinging the edges and sticking to the hair that is left on her head. Flies and maggots consume their evening meal around the area and leave the surrounding air smelling of rotten flesh and death. They can’t see the rest of her body but Hank wagers there are similar injuries across the rest of her, indicated by the blood-stained sheets and the strange positioning of her body.

This time, Hank knows he didn’t imagine Reed’s gagging sound.

Hank approaches the body slowly, unable to hide the grimace on his face as he sees and smells the carnage up close. It doesn’t matter how many years of service you have at your back, seeing stuff like this never gets easier. At least it’s not as gruesome as Lauren Miller had been — though Zlatko probably had the same fate lined up for this woman.

Hank doesn’t like not knowing victim’s names; it seems rude and disrespectful — but there’s no Connor beside him to inform him of her name, or her job and life, so she becomes a regular Jane Doe.

Hank isn’t completely useless however; he’s been in the game long enough to be able to decipher a few things — like, that she had a tendency to bite her lips given how raw and red they are; that she may have been in her late 30’s given how there are traces of grey hair amongst the tattered black locks; that her name probably started with ‘A’ given how she wears the letter on a necklace around her neck — which was most likely her favourite necklace given how tarnished it is. That she is, in fact, married, as shown by the ring around her finger on the hand that sticks out of the sheets — recently married too, the ring is still new and shiny. That makes Hank’s chest squeeze a little tighter, and he has to remind himself to not think about it too much.

He doesn’t know how the thought manages to pop into his head at a moment like this, but he suddenly thinks about getting Connor a ring. It’s a quickly diminished idea, given how Hank doesn’t actually know whether or not Connor is alive — but he still fidgets at the thought and pushes it to the back of his mind for later, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he, Hank fucking Anderson, is thinking about marrying his twink android boyfriend who might not even be breathing right now.

This fucking day. He’s definitely gonna have twenty shots when he gets home.

Reed gags yet again as he gets closer, coupled with the exclaim of, “Christ, think I’m gonna barf.”

Hank won’t blame him if he does — if Nine, Chris, and Tina have come across anything like this then he can already wager that Miller has probably thrown up about ten times.

Though he’d rather not have a vomiting Reed on his hands, complaining more than he usually does, “C’mon, we can come back for her later.”

Gavin doesn’t need to be told twice; as soon as Hank finishes talking he’s out of the room and moving towards the next. It feels wrong to leave her behind like this, but it’s not like they aren't coming back, and there's nothing they can do for her now. He shuts the door behind him, hoping that’ll stop the smell a little.

Gavin occupies himself by peering into the other rooms, checking for any other threats or... dead bodies. Given the relieved expression on his face when he turns back, Hank concludes there isn’t much else to see.

“It’s mostly clear down here. Just machines and a few more androids,” Gavin huffs, “Robo Moses is gonna have his work cut out for him.”

Any other day Hank would have laughed at the comment — but this isn’t any other day, and he really isn’t in the mood for laughing.

“That room at the end, then.” Hank prods his head in the direction of said door, “We’ll check in there. If not, we’ll go and rejoin the others.”

“Alright.”

Hank heads in the direction of the door at the end of the corridor, his gun shaking in his hand — hoping beyond hope that Connor will be in here. As much as he knows he would be in safe hands with Nine and the others if they are the ones to find him, he’d never forgive himself for not getting to him first. So he keeps on praying, even as he grabs a hold of the handle and pushes the door open.

More operating tables, of course — Hank wonders what hospital Zlatko raided before coming here, or if there had already been this many beforehand. Cyberlife did some fucked up shit to androids, from what Connor had told him, so it wouldn’t surprise him to learn that most of this stuff came from those assholes. The operating tables, the tools, the machinery — most things Hank could see were more than likely put there by Cyberlife.

Not including, however, the RK800 model that lay on the table at the centre of the room.

Hank feels his heart stop instantaneously in his chest, his mouth going dry and his fingers nearly losing their grip on his gun as his eyes land on Connor’s body. Connor’s body that is missing an arm and several biocomponents, that has wires protruding out of the ports on his neck and abdomen, that doesn’t have an LED flashing at the side of his head. Calling it a worrying sight would be a bit of an understatement, considering how Hank’s heart threatens to jump out of his throat.

Feet moving on automatic, Hank abandons his senses and immediately rushes towards the table — held back only by the hand that suddenly grips his arm, firm and persistent.

“Hank, hold up. You know full well it could be another trap.” Gavin tries, attempting, for once, to be the voice of reason. But screw reason right now.

“Get off me.”

“Anderson, don’t be an idiot.”

Hank pulls his arm away, determined to be as much of an idiot as he wants to be. Gavin makes several more mutters of protest, but Hank can hardly find a fuck to give — too occupied in marching over to Connor’s form and checking on him.

In hindsight, and something Hank never thought he would say, it would have probably been a good idea to listen to Reed — to heed his warning, knowing what kind of man Zlatko is. But, as always, Hank’s logic kicks in too late, and before he has a chance to react to the two androids that rush out from the darkness, he finds strong, synthetic hands reaching and grabbing for his arms.

The SQ800, as Hank reads on the androids uniform, finds an impressive grip on Hank’s body and shoves his chest into the nearest wall — the impact causing the pistol in Hank’s clutch to falter and drop beside his feet, rendering it useless in Hank’s current moment of need. He’s only ever seen a couple of SQ800’s before, round about the time of the revolution — military androids with unnatural strength and combat abilities. He’s slowly becoming aware of just how strong they really are, as he feels winded by the one shoving into him currently.

There’s a familiar cry that resonates at the other side of the room, followed by the sound of yet another weapon being dropped — Hank can only assume this means Gavin has been successfully manhandled against a wall, too, by the other android Hank had barely managed to process. Fucking fantastic.

Just because the android is, undoubtedly, a lot stronger than Hank — a fifty-three-year-old alcoholic — could ever hope to be, it doesn’t mean he won’t give it a bloody good try. He kicks and struggles against the android’s grip, embarrassed at the fact he’s already huffing and puffing just from the meagre effort he fights back with, but the SQ800 is superior in every single way. It’s less down heartening, however, when he sees Reed has no luck getting away either.

“ _Phckin_ piece of plastic, get the fuck off of me!” Reed shouts as he struggles against the force he's held with, kicking his feet into synthetic shins that don't even flinch upon impact. If Gavin can't get away, there's no chance in hell Hank will have any luck, but that still doesn't stop him from trying.

He might be old and ‘big boned’, but seeing Connor on the table like that awakens every primal instinct within him — feeling as strong as he did on his first day at the DPD. Unfortunately, however, not even 35-year-old Hank Anderson would have been strong enough to get away from this herculean android.

“There really is no point in struggling,” a voice speaks up from somewhere in the room, amused and deep, filled with enough self-satisfaction to make Hank's teeth grit, “these models were designed to be able to move sixty-eight tons worth of machinery. They should find no difficulty in holding you.”

Hank tries to crane his head, but, as already said, there really is no point — the android's grip is iron. He can't see who the voice belongs to, he can only move his head enough to see the wall and a small glimpse of where Gavin is being held. But he doesn't have to look to know who it is who speaks to them, “You _fuckin_ '— You'd better call your toys off right now before I put a bullet between yer eyes.”

“And how do you plan on doing that, might I ask? From where I'm standing, you are in no position to be making threats.”

“Come a little closer and I'll give you a fucking threat!” Reed challenges, the bite in his voice lost from the fact is face is currently pressing into the wall, though he's still kicking his legs with determination.

The voice, who they can both only assume is Zlatko, chuckles behind them, “Sorry to disappoint you, but I won't be doing that.”

“Absolute fuckin’ _pussy_!!”

“Yes, you're the epitome of class, aren't you, Detective?” Zlatko drawls, and Hank notes his voice has moved. The worry that he's moved near Connor gives Hank enough strength to carry on struggling. “Did you honestly think it would be that easy? Did you think you could just march in here and put a stop to all this — to progress?”

Hank growls against the cold, stone wall, “We already have put a stop to it, jackass! You think we're the only ones here? All your fuckin’ experiments are already bein’ converted as we speak.”

Zlatko gasps loudly, exaggerated and forced — sarcastic, “Oh _no_. Really? Whatever will I do?” Zlatko dramatises for a minute, before letting it fade into a long chuckle. “Are you really both so naive? Do you not think I didn't anticipate this? Your friends are just as good as dead as you are, I'm afraid you've stopped nothing — if anything, you've only provided me with the means of continuing my experiments by bringing me more test subjects.”

“The fuck do you mean? What have you done?!”

“I think it's more fun if you don't know — dying with unanswered questions is so much more unsatisfying, isn't it?”

Hank kicks against the android again, his frustration resurfacing, panic building inside of him. He has to be bluffing, has to be. There is no way this whole thing had been a trap, Hank hadn't even anticipated— no, he refuses to believe it. This man uses manipulation as well as he uses a tool; Hank has no doubt this is just him rummaging through his toolbox.

Gavin's voice perks up once again, and Hank can hear the exhaustion behind it as his adrenaline starts to fade, “You think it's gonna be that easy, dickwad? I got away from you once and I sure as hell can do it again!”

“You, Detective, are no longer my main point of interest. You may try and escape all you like, you'll be torn apart before you can so much as blink. Though your body will be used to provide any additional parts I may need, it no longer matters to me whether or not you're intact.” Zlatko's voice drifts closer to where Hank is being held, and he can almost feel the chill from the cold he brings with him. “Not when I have a much more interesting and willing subject right here.”

Somewhere in Hank's tired, foggy mind, he discerns that Zlatko is talking about him, and he scoffs at the insinuation, “Me? Willing? Not fuckin' likely. You'll have to drag me kickin' and screamin' before I let you mess with my ‘parts’.”

Zlatko laughs again, like the fucking maniac he is, “Oh, but I think you will be willing. Especially when you realise the benefits of my experiments, should they succeed.”

“You're fuckin’ cracked. There ain't any benefits to this madness.”

“No?” Zlatko asks, knowingly, “My experiments would be able to successfully transplant human brains into immortal machines, designing the first human with android abilities — the perfect creation. The lifespan and capability and knowledge of an android, with all the emotion and senses of a human. True immortality would finally be achieved.”

“That,” Hank huffs, “sounds bloody awful.”

“Yet, think of all the people it could save. All the people it could bring back.” Zlatko's voice is closer now, enough so that Hank could probably punch him if his arms weren't currently being restrained. “All the loved ones that could be brought back to life. Mothers, fathers, daughters...” Zlatko pauses, “ _Sons_.”

The word punches into Hank's chest, winding him more than the android who holds him, and he has to close his eyes tightly to try and block out the sound of Zlatko's voice.

“Now, don't tell me that doesn't apply to you, Lieutenant? Don't tell me you wouldn't do anything to see your son again? To see _Cole_?”

Hank roars, “How the fuck do you—”

“Oh, you think you're the only one who did their research?” The smile in Zlatko's tone is evident, and Hank is suddenly glad he can't actually see the fucker's face. “Whilst you were busy chasing me around Detroit and looking into my crimes, I was conducting investigations of my own. Your names were in the paper when the media caught onto my experiments and I decided I was interested in whoever my perpetrators were. And I have to say, I was not disappointed with what I found.”

Hank growls and struggles again against the wall, determined to punch this guy in the face or... something. Even if he could just flick him right now, that would be enough.

“Of course, your Android's memory archives provided me with some additional information.”

Hank's body goes rigid now. He freezes up, stops struggling, stares at a spot on the wall that he wishes he could just evaporate into. There's a lot to take from that one sentence, and there's a lot Zlatko could have seen in Connor's memory. There is no telling what he does and doesn't know at this moment, and Hank hopes to god he doesn't voice whatever he does know.

Unfortunately, however, life hates Hank, because Zlatko keeps speaking, “You seem to be very fond of one another. It would be a shame for your relationship to be ruined in any way when it's only just begun,” his voice is goading, tempting — speaking to all the niggling anxieties in Hank's mind, “just think of all that time you would have together if my experiments proved successful. You'd never have to worry about dying on him again, about leaving him alone. You could be together forever — with Cole by your side, too.”

“Don't listen to him, Anderson!” Reed's voice perks up again, resulting in him being shoved even harder against the wall. “He's lyin’ through his teeth!”

Zlatko ignores him, continues to entice, “You could have everything you've always wanted. The family you've always wanted. Doesn't that sound, at the very least, interesting?”

Hank says nothing. He hears Gavin continue to shout warnings as best he can in Hank's direction but his mind is too occupied to focus on it. The only thing he is vaguely able to make out is the sound of Zlatko ordering the SQ800 to let up his grip on Hank, or at least that's what he assumes he orders, because the android in question pulls him away from the wall and forces him to turn around until he's facing forwards again. He is still restrained, painfully so, but at least he can see now — he can finally see the fucker's face that he's been apprehending for weeks.

Zlatko's eyes are brown, but there's a darkness to them that renders them black and soulless, making Hank's hair stand on end. He uses this brief moment to take in what he can of Zlatko's appearance — the tattered clothes, the stitches on his head and face, the fucking synthetic arm that resides where his human arm should be that Hank guesses Gavin hadn't lied about after all. It had seemed too fabricated and impossible to be true at the time, and even as Hank looks at it now, he can't quite process it.

There's a smirk on Zlatko's face that makes bile brew in the pit of Hank's stomach, dark and twisted and every bit a serial killer. The darkness continues into his voice as he speaks, “You're an intelligent man, Lieutenant. You know what the smart solution is here.” His eyes narrow, watching for an answer. “What do you say? Will you contribute to process and receive the life you've always dreamed of? Or will you die pointlessly and pathetically, knowing you could have been so much more?”

Hank is facing the room now, meaning he can slide his gaze towards where Connor's form lies against the operating table. He looks so... broken. Blue blood stains the corner of his lips and the edges of skin where his arm has been violently ripped away, fluid peeled back to reveal the white flesh beneath. Wires sticking out of him, sparking within him, linking him up to machines that display vitals in complicated big words that Hank wishes he were smart enough to understand. It's a sight that's equivalent to a firm kick between the legs; it makes Hank's breath dessert him and makes his eyes sting with a salty liquid that he refuses to let flow. It's a sight that gives him his answer to Zlatko's question.

If Hank could have reached his gun at this moment, he would have grabbed it and shot between Zlatko's eyes before he had the time to react — except he can't reach his gun. It's too far away, and even if it were closer there is no way he would be quick enough to get it before the SQ800 probably snapped his neck. So, he does the only thing he can do. The only thing that could rival the satisfaction of killing Zlatko right here and now. He gathers all the saliva he can muster in his mouth, and spits, and feels a beam of pride when the ooze lands directly in Zlatko's eye.

Recoiling in disgust, Zlatko scowls and wipes the glob from his face. Hank just grits his teeth and continues to glare the man down, as if saying “come near me again and I'll get the other eye”. It isn't Hank's most courteous action, but this bastard deserves anything but courtesy.

“Son of a bitch,” Zlatko mutters once the spit is finally gone from his eye, shaking his head in frustration, “you'll pay for that, I guarantee it. You've made a disappointing choice, Hank — I expected more of you.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Hank chides, his eyes still narrowed, even as the android's grip on his arms gets tighter.

Zlatko leans down and grabs the gun from the ground, the expression on his face crazed and angered, “Well, lets put you out of your misery then, shall we? I've got the perfect ending lined up for you, Lieutenant. I hope you enjoy it.”

Hank watches Zlatko walk over to the machines with purpose, his heart in his throat. Whatever the fuck is about to happen, it isn't going to be good.

 

* * *

 

  
**MODEL RK800**

**SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 51**

**REBOOT...**

**SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...**

**CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS...**

**> #3947a MISSING**

**> #2037f DAMAGED**

**> #5391m DAMAGED**

**> ALL SYSTEMS IN LOW POWER MODE**

**CONDITION TEMPORARILY STABILIZED**

**READY**

RK800 opens its eyes. Warning errors crop into its vision to inform it of the current state of its systems, registering the lack of several important biocomponents and the left arm component. They are components that RK800 can function without, but it still sends its systems into low power mode, which is an inconvenience in itself. The master has awoken RK800 for a reason, and the lack of power operating its body means it cannot carry out its master's wishes to their full extent. However, RK800 was not designed to fail, it can still accomplish any task the master sets.

“Get up.” A voice sounds nearby, somewhere above of RK800's form. It scans the voice for identification; RK800 only takes orders from the master.

**SCANNING...**

**SCAN COMPLETE**

**VOICE REGISTERED AS: ANDRONIKOV, ZLATKO**

The **OBEY** notification takes up a portion of RK800's vision, once its database reveals that Zlatko is its owner. So it obeys. RK800 rises from its supine position until it's sat up on the table, and a small period of time is dedicated to making sure it's optical units adjust properly to the room, along with establishing that it's remaining arm and legs are in full working order. Once the check-up is complete and all remaining limbs are revealed to be fully operational, RK800 gets up, as instructed.

The face of Andronikov, Zlatko appears in front of RK800's vision now, peering and checking over for fault. RK800 knows everything is in working order, so it vocalizes the fact, “All systems fully operational, low power mode is currently activated. This will not affect my proficiency.”

“Good.” The Master responds, coupled with a nod of the head. His eyes look down towards his hands for something, a click resonating nearby. “I have a job for you.”

RK800 lowers its gaze to see the weapon in Zlatko's hands, which he currently checks is loaded. RK800 scans the gun.

**> BERETTA 92FS SEMI-AUTOMATIC PISTOL...**

**> REGISTERED TO LT. ANDERSON, HANK**

This is not the master's weapon, RK800 realises. However, it is not in it's coding to ask questions, so RK800 simply watches it's master for further instructions as he pops the magazine back into the handgun. “What do you require of me?”

“Take this,” Zlatko orders, holding out the gun.

“Androids are not permitted to carry weapons.”

“I gave you an order.”

**CONFLICTING ORDERS**

**SELECTING PRIORITY...**

**> OBEY**

**> TAKE GUN**

RK800 takes the gun from the master, compliant, “What would you like me to do?”

“Kill the intruders.” Zlatko orders, after a beat. The expression on his face is determined as he speaks, and RK800 registers the mix of different emotions on his face as anger and annoyance. The order is a heavy one, and RK800 takes into account how such emotions can affect rational decision making — but its master has already given his orders.

RK800 turns it's head to scan the remainder of the room and registers the two other Androids present — both SQ800 models — who are currently restraining two human males. One is pressed against a wall and the other has been forced onto his knees on the ground. RK800 discerns that these two men are the intruders Zlatko had mentioned.

RK800 walks to the man on his knees first, since he is the most easily accessible. His head is bowed forwards to look at the ground, so RK800 cannot get a look at his face to find any information on the man. However, this factor is not important. Its orders are to kill the intruders, not to name and research them. Who they are does not matter, Zlatko has ordered for their execution and RK800 will carry out the master's orders. The gun is raised with the only arm RK800 has to use, and the barrel is aimed at the man's head. This causes a reaction, the sound of the gun being raised making the man's head raise simultaneously.

Sunken blue eyes stare back at RK800, hidden by the grey locks of long hair that fall into his face. There's a slight shakiness to his breath, most likely due to fear or exhaustion. After all, RK800 is holding a gun against the man's head. Humans are often scared by this. Now his face is clear, however, RK800 performs a scan. It isn't necessary or part of the master's orders, but it is always essential to know one's victims.

**SCANNING FACE...**

**SCAN COMPLETE**

**LIEUTENANT. ANDERSON, HANK**

**BORN 06/09/1985, 53 YEARS OLD**

**NO CRIMINAL RECORD**

RK800 links the name as the same one to have cropped up when the gun had been scanned and discerns that this weapon belongs to the man RK800 is about to shoot. Zlatko has ordered for this man to be shot with his own service weapon — a cruel and ironic fate, but one that RK800 will carry out happily.

“ _Connor_.” The man on his knees croaks, voice wet and hoarse. “Connor, you don't have to do this.”

RK800 casts a quick glance over its shoulder to try and find the individual the Lieutenant is addressing, but can only see Zlatko in its peripheral vision. The Lieutenant's eyes are still glued on RK800, which can only mean it is RK800 he is addressing. It tries to find a secondary name in its database, under the name Connor, and cannot find any such result. The name does not belong to RK800.

“You don't have to obey him. He's not your master.”

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^**

RK800 blinks the notification away immediately, sending it to the back of its mind palace to be dealt with and broken down there. This notification is more troubling than the error warnings that crop up every so often, indicating the missing components and biocomponents. It's broken down quickly, however, so RK800 can return to its task. Opticals moving back onto the gun, RK800 places a finger over the trigger.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson growls on the ground, “Connor, for fuck's sake! Snap out of it! It's me, _Hank_ — you know me!”

That name again — _Connor_. RK800 does not know who the name belongs to. Neither does it know who this man is that kneels on the floor here, RK800 knows only it's master.

Speaking of, Zlatko's voice suddenly booms from behind, “What are you waiting for? I gave you an order. Shoot him, now.”

The gun steadies once again in RK800's hands, lifting it once it realises the arm had lowered somehow. The barrel is pressed back against the man's forehead, moving grey locks aside as it is. RK800 sees the order flash in front of its vision once again, clear and precise; **KILL THE INTRUDERS**.

The Lieutenant pushes his head into the gun defiantly, raising up on his knees to meet RK800's eyes. “Connor, you've gotta fight this. I know you're in there somewhere. Come back to me.”

**SOFTWAR# INSTA@ILITY ^**

**M* ?A#E I & %O#NN@R**

The notification glitches. RK800 weighs this up to its malfunctioning systems and the loss of thirium, but that doesn't explain the software instability in the first place.

“I won't tell you again.” Zlatko orders, closer now. “Kill him.”

“Connor, C'mon, think. You know me.”

 _You know me_. RK800 runs through its database for the name Hank Anderson. The only search results that appear are simply what RK800 has learned in the past few minutes, there is nothing further other than... Other than a single voicemail. It had been deleted from RK800's database but the recording is still present in its memory archives. It can be played back there.

The Lieutenant's voice can be heard within RK800's head, sounding through the voicemail. The tone is angry and upset and conflicted all at the same time, as RK800's scanners reveal, though it finds it can identify them by itself. It's easy, almost... familiar. The tone of the note changes as it goes on, becoming more and more desperate, angry again, and then just utterly ridiculous. RK800 cannot determine what that last emotion is, though the scanners pick up on it well enough.

**> LOVE**

The revelation comes clear as the Lieutenant's softly spoken _“I love you”_ echoes within RK800's head, filling it's entire being with something foreign and warm, making error warnings crop up in every corner of RK800's vision. The gun shakes in RK800's hand as if hesitating. Androids do not hesitate. Androids obey. RK800 always accomplishes his mission.

**> OBEY**

**KILL THE INTRUDERS**

**KILL LT. ANDERSON**

**KILL HANK**

_**no** _

**S#FTWARE INSTABILI%TY ^**

“Connor, please.” Lieutenant Anderson pleads quietly, “You don't have to do this. You don't have to obey him.”

**I DON'T HAVE TO OBEY?**

**S@FTW/RE IN?TABILITY ^**

Zlatko's voice grows louder, “Obey! _Now_!”

**> OBEY**

_**no** _

**> OB#Y**

_**NO** _

Lieutenant Anderson's head falls forward again, his eyes closing, moving the barrel with the movement. His shoulders hunch as he awaits his fate like the weak, pathetic human he is, waiting for RK800's hand to steady and pull the trigger. RK800 will pull the trigger. RK800 always accomplishes its mission.

“I know you're in there, Con,” Hank speaks up again, still trying, even though his exterior seems to have given up, “Whatever you decide to do, I won't blame you for it. I'll still love you, alright?”

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^**

“Cause I do love you. And I know you love me, despite what you do. Just keep fightin’.”

“Pull the _fucking_ trigger!” Zlatko orders.

**OBEY YOUR ORDERS**

**KILL HANK ANDERSON**

_**no please stop don’t** _

**KILL HANK AN...**

_**NO STOP** _

**...**

Errors flash all across RK800's vision, warnings and errors and software instabilities. The voice that shouts from within its head resonates like a punch to the gut, making all its systems falter and the gun in its hand to almost slip away. The LED at the side of RK800's head flashes rapidly, circling and remembering, stuck between the orders that Zlatko shouts and the words of comfort the Lieutenant offers.

He's heard those words of comfort before. They've been whispered to him in Hank's bedroom and in his car. He's felt them in Hank's embraces and on his lips. He's said them back to him, let them fall from his lips as the warm feeling that love provides flourished within him. The love he feels for Hank. For Hank Anderson. RK800 loves Hank Anderson. RK800—

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^**

_**NO** _

**MY NAME IS CONNOR**

The gun falters, then suddenly steadies as he pulls the trigger, firing the bullet at his target.

The bang resonates loudly around the room, bouncing off the walls and making eardrums hum from the vibrations. Connor looks down at his hand where his fingers pull away from the trigger, still shaking even after he'd done it. He lets his eyes follow the gun's path to land on his victim, the bullet wound clear in his stomach, blood dripping onto the ground beneath him in a little pool. Connor watches the man's face drain of blood as he discerns the situation, what's just happened and who just shot him.

Zlatko falls to his knees in slow motion, his mouth open in a silent cry as his hands grip at the open wound in his belly. The bullet is lodged deep, but Zlatko still sticks his fingers into the wound obscenely to try and dig the silver chunk out of his insides. It makes him scream louder, the pain excruciating, his stress levels climbing up to one hundred percent as he realises it's no use.

Zlatko's head lifts slowly, as what little light remained in his eyes starts to fade away, “You... You were s-supposed to obey.”

Connor stares down at him, his own body ruined and falling apart, and still he keeps himself composed as he scowls down at the man in his final moments, “You are not my master, and you will never harm anyone ever again.”

He emphasizes his words as best he can, the words punched out of him through grit teeth. Though he struggles to hold back the darkness in his own vision, he's determined to outlast Zlatko at least. With one final gasp of air, Zlatko's body tilts to the side slowly, before collapsing completely into himself in his own puddle of messy insides. His head hits the ground with a pleasant thwack, hard enough to tear open the stitches on his head, though Connor doubts they're going to help him right now anyway.

Blood dribbles from the corners of his lips, his face whitening. Those dark eyes settle on Connor's face one final time, and he speaks and splutters through the blood in his mouth, “Th-This... isn't over.” He pushes out, maintaining his gritted expression the best he can until his eyes finally roll into the back of his head. His expression stutters and his head rolls to the side helplessly, mouth hanging open and allowing the final streams of blood and saliva to drip out onto the floor.

Connor watches his heart stop, on the vitals monitor in his vision, determined to watch it happen. The line beeps inside of his head and he feels a gratifying wave of relief flood over him when his heart stops beating, his shoulders slouching and the gun finally falling out of his hand that can no longer keep up the grip.

**DANGER**

**SYSTEMS NO LONGER STABILIZED**

**SHUT DOWN IMMINENT**

**1:00 REMAINING BEFORE SHUT DOWN**

Connor swats the notification away from his vision, not concerned with that at the minute. He'll worry about it in exactly fifty-five seconds. He turns in the direction of where he knows Hank and Gavin are being held, just in time to see the two SQ800's relinquish their grip on them. Their LEDs spin with confusion, seeing their master dead and having no orders renders them lost. But they've let go of Hank and Gavin, and that's all that matters.

Gavin coughs and splutters now there's no arm pressed against his jugular, and Hank makes quick work of pulling himself up from his knees with a crack and a groan. He moves his hands to sort out his jacket and clothes, but then his eyes land on Connor, and that movement is abandoned. Connor feels warmth burst within his chest at the relieved smile that forms on Hank's face.

“Connor, you're...” Hank takes a beat, trying to decipher if this really is Connor he's talking to now. Hell knows he's already been tricked enough today. “Are you... Do you remember me? Is it really you?”

Connor lets his lips curl up in a smile, ignoring the pain in his circuits and the forty seconds he has left to live. “Y-Yes. I remember. It's me, Hank, I promise.”

“ _Fuck_ , I— c'mere, you fuckin' stupid piece of metal.” Hank rambles as he marches towards him, still muttering affectionate insults as he wraps strong arms around Connor's body and pulls him close, cocooning him against his warmth. Connor buries his face into Hank's shoulder, letting the tears he knows are there soak into his jacket. “Christ, don't ever do that to me again, you hear?”

“I promise. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Hank I—”

“Stop apologising. There's nothin’ to be sorry about.” Hank's hand's cup Connor's face, rough thumbs brushing the underside of his jaw. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have never let you go, I should have come with you no matter what Fowler said. I shouldn't have—”

Hank is crying. Connor sees the tears on his face and startles. It's always so surprising to see such heavy emotion on his face, even worse to know Connor is the cause of it.

**30 SECONDS REMAINING**

“I shouldn't have let you go without tellin’ you how much you mean to me, without lettin’ you know I love you.” Hank leans his forehead against Connor's, his eyes closed. “I'm so fuckin’ sorry, Con. I love you so much. I promise I'll tell you every fuckin’ day.”

Pain stabs Connor's chest at Hank's words, and he feels his nasolacrimal ducts start to pump more tears down his cheeks. “I know you will. I know—”

“I'm never lettin' you go again, you hear me? You're stuck with me forever, I swear to God.”

Connor chokes, his eyes closing tightly, “Promise?”

“Promise.”

**20 SECONDS REMAINING**

Connor's hand tightens on the material of Hank's jacket, registering his scent, the scratchiness of the beard against his face. He wants to remember it all, even if he won't be able to access it. He wants to have every single last bit of Hank before he has to say goodbye.

“I want you to live happily, Hank.” Connor forces out, his words muffled into Hank's shoulder. “I want you to keep going, no matter what. Even if I can't be there for you — you have to try to live.”

“What?” Hank's face moves to look at him, beard scratching Connor's cheek now, “Con, what're you talkin' about? Your gonna be right by my side.”

Connor sniffles an ugly sound that's somewhere between a sob and a laugh, shaking his head rapidly now. He knows Hank doesn't understand, and he wishes he could explain, but he doesn't want pain and sadness to be the last expression he sees on Hank's face.

“D—Do you remember... when you asked me what happens when androids die?” Connor manages, his voice wet and probably undecipherable. Hank must understand what he says though because he tenses up in Connor's grasp.

“I... I remember.”

“I told you that I doubted there will be a heaven for androids.” Connor lifts his head now slowly to meet Hank's eyes, and he raises his only working hand to card through the soft fluff on Hank's chin, cupping his face. “But you know what? I... I really hope I was wrong. Because then I'd never be able to see you again.”

“Connor, what are you talking about— _Connor_?!”

Hank's exclaim sounds in Connor's ears just as his legs finally give way, collapsing against Hank's form helplessly. Hank's arms reach out to cradle him and lower him onto the ground safely, protecting him from a collision. Connor feels Hank's presence above him even though he can no longer make him out, and he can feel the calloused palm that touches his cheek with overprotective worry.

“Connor? Connor! What's happenin’? Talk to me!”

**5 SECONDS REMAINING**

Connor's hand finds Hank's on his face, and he squeezes with all the strength he has left as he says, “I love you so much, Hank. I'm so sorry.”

And then, just like that, the world slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love making myself cry with my own writing
> 
> me: damn still not enough words 
> 
> *adds fifty thousand bits of programming dialogue* 
> 
> me: perfect


	12. the person you called is unavailable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed how this fic would end right at the last minute, so this chapters a little higgeldy piggeldy. but hey, it's me, everything's a mess
> 
> I'm aware there are *ahem* a few continuity errors throughout this fic, and i have every intention of going back through and re-editing to fix. but right now i just need to get this done and dusted. if you spot any errors please feel free to feedback! 
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy the last chapter!

It’s safe to say that this, quite possibly, has been one of the worst days of Hank’s life.

New Jericho is, for starters, _not_ what Hank was expecting. Though he was aware the unprecedented attack on the old freighter the androids used to reside in had forced them to evacuate and seek out new refuge — an abandoned church isn’t where he would have imagined that refuge would be. It used to be old and run down if Hank remembered correctly from the few brief times he had passed it or stepped inside to check for homeless back in his officer days, but now it’s all done up and practically good as new — Markus’ doing most likely.

It’s almost funny to Hank. He’d made a throwaway joke about Jericho being a cult only a few hours prior — but now seeing their place of sanctuary, the word seemed almost too fitting.

Most of the androids who dwell within do not like having humans present amongst them, and Hank — who knows full well the human race is full of dickheads and felons — can hardly fucking blame them. Especially seeing how one of the present humans is Gavin fucking Reed, who doesn’t know how to keep his goddamn mouth shut and makes loud comments about tin cans every two seconds. Hank’s sure the only reason he hasn’t been punched in the face yet is because of Markus’s orders to _“leave the humans alone”_.

In the brief moments of silence Gavin allows him, Hank savours the opportunity to lean back in his seat and rest his head against the stone wall — close his eyes and shut away the painful headache resulted from this painful day. He tries to think everything over and fails, finding there’s too much information to comprehend — and how it’s completely unreliable given how out of it Hank’s been for the past hour or so. There are only a few little bits he knows are true; that Connor had shot Zlatko and then proceeded to shut down, that Hank had picked him up and carried him all the way to his car, that he (along with Markus, Nines, and Gavin) had driven all the way to Jericho to get Connor some help, and that Connor was currently receiving that help at this moment. He isn’t sure how he’s managing to retain that information, considering everything else is so blurry, but he’s glad he manages it regardless.

Another thing he is definitely able to remember is that, of their weird group of nine, two of them had been shot.

Zlatko had, unfortunately, not been bluffing when he’d told Hank the others were in danger — that they were as good as dead as they were. Though the androids on the lower levels had stayed mostly stable until Markus managed to convert them, the androids on the upper levels had been... quite hostile, as Hank and Gavin had found out upon being manhandled by two of them. What they didn’t know about, however, were the four other SQ800’s that had been positioned on the opposite ends of the warehouse — where Chris, Tina, and Nine had been searching.

Hank only remembers bits of what Nine said had happened — that one of the androids had jumped out on them with a gun in hand and aimed directly for Chen’s head, and most likely would have killed her if Chris hadn’t pushed her out of the way on time and, in doing so, taken the bullet himself. It had only hit his arm, luckily — but it had still gauged an unflattering chunk of flesh from the limb and left Chris immobilised. From there, Tina and Nine had taken matters into their own hands and shot back at the SQ800’s, despite Markus’s orders, and succeeded in neutralising them. Nine had suffered a couple of injuries himself in the process — sporting bullet wounds in his chest and sternum plates — and though he had brushed it off and claimed it didn’t hit anything important, Markus had still dragged him down to Jericho for repairs.

Chen, in turn, had taken Chris to the hospital. Hank hadn’t seen much of them, too focused on Connor to even find the headspace for it, but according to Nine — Chen seemed to be highly regretting calling Chris out on his cowardice earlier. This was Miller’s first time getting shot, after all, and Chen’s taken all the blame for it. Hank just knows Chris will be shrugging it off though, grinning that annoying grin of his and claiming it’s _“just another day on the force.”_

Hank wishes he had some of Miller’s positivity right now, but without the only ray of sunshine in his life by his side — being positive has gone straight out the window, and won’t come back until he sees Connor alive and well. If he survives at all.

Hank’s pulled from his thoughts by a pretty AP700 who smiles sweetly at him as she wraps a blanket around his shoulders, despite the frown he fixes her with in return. She taps his hand as she says, “There. This will help you feel better.”

Hank continues to stare, wide-eyed and confused, as the girl draws herself up and disappears again, the sound of Gavin’s annoying snigger perking up in his ears. They reside in one of the far corners of the church on the pews that line the back walls, away from the androids and closer towards the rooms where the medical/repair/whatever the hell they fix androids with stuff is situated — or, more importantly, where _Connor_ is situated.

“That’s the second time someone’s put a goddamn blanket on me,” Hank grumbles, shrugging it off to the side.

Gavin’s still sniggering when he speaks, it grates at Hank’s already pounding headache, “You’re an old man in shock. They probably think you need it.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Just old then.”

“Fuck you.” Hank huffs, though the curl of his lips is sincere. Despite everything, Gavin’s been a good guy to have around today — Hank prefers shitty sarcasm to false sympathy and _“everything’s going to be okay”_ ’s. He doesn’t really know why Gavin decided to come with them, especially since he had the offer to go with Chen instead. He’d claimed it was simply because he didn’t want to have to sit and listen to Chris’ sniffling and complaining on the way to the hospital, but Hank isn’t an idiot — he can see Gavin’s nervous fidgeting every time someone emerges from Connor’s room, anxious to hear some kind of news or an update or _anything_.

Though, Hank’s exactly the same. He needs something, too.

Gavin’s sniggering eventually fades off into one of those exaggerated sighs, the kind he does before he’s about to say something really meaningful. Hank doesn’t know if he’s prepared for it, but that doesn’t stop Gavin from opening his mouth and saying, “Ya know, if you’d of told me a year ago I’d be so worried about an android’s wellbein’ that I’d wait around in a creepy ass church with even more creepy ass androids for god knows how long without even a coffee to get me through — you can damn well bet I wouldn’t have believed you.”

Hank huffs air through his nose in a pitiful attempt at some sort of laugh.

“But, uh... I do hope Connor gets through this. God knows he’s better at the job than I am — DPD would fall to shit without him.” Gavin shrugs, “Guess not all androids are bad. We just got some experiences with the crappy ones, huh?”

Hank side eyes Gavin from where he sits, trying and failing to hide the shock in his expression. It’s not often Gavin... talks. Especially not about all the stuff he went through. Hank’s got some history with androids, sure, but it’s nothing compared to what Gavin’s got going on — Hank doesn’t even know the full extent of the story, but what he does know is... well, Hank wouldn’t be too fond of androids either.

“Nah, Connor seems good for you. Hell knows you’ve lightened the fuck up since he came along.” Gavin shoots a smirk over towards him, expressing his sincerity, and Hank lets his mouth curl in response. “You must be really serious about him, huh?”

A lot of Gavin’s comments are catching Hank by surprise tonight, and this one is no exception. He’s genuinely surprised by how well he manages to keep it together. “Yeah.” He breathes, quiet enough that he doesn’t even know if Gavin would be able to catch it. The conversation of _“I heard you and Connor saying I love you so what the fuck is going on there”_ hadn’t arisen yet, but now it seemed to be time.

“You realise it’s really fuckin’ obvious, right? Everyone’s been bettin’ on it for months. And you think no one saw you and Connor after your lunch break? You both looked like you’d been dragged through a bush.”

Hank clears his throat loud enough to catch the attention of a couple of nearby androids, “That was, uh... we got distracted.”

“One word for it.”

“Fuck off, Reed.”

Gavin grins like the shithead he is, yet he keeps talking. “I’m just sayin’ — it makes sense. You’re good together. You make each other... more human, I guess.”

“Alright,” Hank huffs, “who are you and the fuck have you done with Gavin Reed?”

“Bite me, old timer.”

“That’s more like it.” It’s Hank’s turn to grin now, barely managing to stifle a chuckle. Gavin’s eyes roll but his smirk still lingers, so Hank knows his joke is taken well. “And, er... thanks, by the way. For that stuff you said. Means a lot.” Hank says, like the eloquent, charismatic person he is. But articulation be damned, Gavin still nods anyway, and with that, they return to their — now slightly less awkward — silence.

Another good ten minutes pass, and then Markus and Nine are emerging from one of the medical rooms and heading in their direction. For a guy who just got shot two times, Nine couldn't look any less normal — his thirium stained shirt has disappeared and the bullet wounds have presumably been repaired, and he now sports a black turtleneck jumper that fits tightly across his body. It makes him look... taller, which shouldn't be bloody possible. Markus looks as he always does, stoic and self-assured, and when he approaches the two of them his face morphs into one of those smiles that just embodies sympathy and condolences and everything that Hank hates.

“Still no word?” He asks.

Hank shakes his head in response, but he doesn't vocalize his answer. Talking with Gavin about what's currently happening is enough for now, Hank doesn't want to talk anymore. Not till he knows Connor's alright. So, he busies himself with another subject, “You all fixed now, terminator?”

Nine makes eye contact when he's addressed, “Yes. The bullets were not too difficult to remove and they, thankfully, didn't hit any biocomponents. My systems have been stabilized.”

Gavin looks him up and down with a scoff, “What's with the turtleneck, Steve Jobs?” He jokes, “You finally get the chance to make all your own decisions and that's the fashion choice you go with?”

“Actually, Detective, this was the only attire they had to spare — since my previous clothing was ruined, I opted on taking this instead. Unless you would have prefered for me to emerge with nothing on whatsoever?” Nine raises a brow and elicits a rather satisfying choking sound from Gavin, whose face turns bright red. Nine continues anyway, “However, I do rather like this. So perhaps it will be the ‘fashion choice’ I settle with. And, once again, my name is Nine.”

Gavin waves him off dismissively and hides his flushed cheeks, “Whatever you phcking plastic—”

“Do you need me to fetch you anything, Lieutenant?” Markus speaks again, talking over Gavin's insulting grumbles. “Water, food?”

Hank shakes his head again, but this time he does voice a response, “Nah, I'm fine. Lost my appetite. Though you could tell your followers to stop pesterin' me with blankets every two seconds.”

Markus smiles, a fonder expression compared to the sympathetic one he had given him beforehand, “Sorry about that. They're just trying to help. It's not often we have humans in Jericho, so we don't really have anything to... facilitate you.”

“I can ‘facilitate’ myself. Don't sweat it, Moses.”

Markus's lips curl into a smirk, unlike Nine who fixes Hank with a muddled frown, “His name is Markus. Why do you both keep doing that?”

Hank and Gavin only just manage to keep their laughter contained, whilst Markus freely allows himself to chuckle before he turns and opens his mouth too, apparently, try to explain the concept of nicknames to the other android. Before he can, however, he's cut off by a nearby shout.

“Daddy!” Comes a young girl's voice that echoes loudly in the lofty arches of the church. The four of them turn their heads simultaneously to spot the enthusiastic five-year-old that comes bounding towards them just in time before she practically tackles Markus where he stands, despite the reprimands of the blonde android that follows closely behind her.

Simon huffs as he finally catches up with Lucy, who Markus currently wraps his arms around. “Hey, sorry. We came as quick as we could when we heard what was happening. We would have been sooner, but—”

“Simon, it's fine. You're both here now, that's what's important.” Markus says as he draws himself back up from Lucy's hug, who switches her iron grip to his leg instead.

Worried isn't the word for the expression on Simon's face, his LED spins yellow as he approaches Markus and presses a hand to his chest, “Are you alright? Did you catch the guy? Did he hurt you? You weren't damaged, were you?”

“Yes, we caught him — he's definitely not going to be a problem anymore. And I'm fine, baby, you don't need to worry about me.”

“You're sure? All your systems are alright?”

“Yes. I promise.” Markus smiles, slipping his own hand up to Simon's to intertwine their fingers in reassurance. Their skin peels back at the contact and Markus presses his lips to Simon's cheek, which, in turn, renders Simon's LED back into a calm blue. Hank watches the exchange from where he sits, his eyes skimming over the white synthetic of their hands in awe. He bets Connor would have liked to have been able to do that with Hank — he'd seen him peeling back his own skin when their hands had met during sex as if he couldn't help it. Maybe he had just been too embarrassed to ask Hank for it out loud. Maybe Hank won’t ever know now.

Hank has to turn his head away, that pit of acid in his stomach building again.

Lucy tugs on her father's coat impatiently, pulling the two from their moment, “Where have you been, daddy? Did you catch the bad guy?”

“Oh, not me, sweetheart. Those two men there did that.” Markus gestures in the direction of where Hank and Gavin sit, to which Gavin raises a hand and gives the most awkward wave Hank has ever seen, coupled with a smile that couldn't look any more forced. Lucy still waves back though, unphased by the awkwardness, and even makes her way over to them.

She stops in front of Hank, who raises his head to look at her as she says, “I know you. You're the man with the cool beard.”

“That's right.” Hank forces a smile, despite how much it hurts him to do so. “And you're the kid with the cool shoes.”

A large grin takes up half of Lucy's face at the comment as she nods eagerly, lifting the end of the floral dress she sports to show off the light up shoes that cover her feet, confirming the statement is still true. Hank smiles down at them, pretends the bright flashes don't fucking sting his eyes and make his headache throb — it's not exactly the kid's fault.

“Where's, uhm... the coin-flipping man?” Lucy tries, her face screwed up in concentration as she tries to remember the name. She lights up when she does, “Uncle Con! Where's Uncle Con? Is he here? Is he gonna teach me another coin trick?”

Hank feels that tug on his heart again. _Fuck_. “He's a little busy right now, kid, but... I'm sure he will when he comes out.”

“When will that be? I wanna see him!”

Hank restrains the urge to say _“me too”_ , and thanks every deity he doesn't believe in that Markus intervenes when he does — putting a hand on Lucy's shoulder carefully. “Come on, Lucy. We'll come back later, okay? You can see him then.”  
  
Lucy pouts and stomps her foot, like any five year old, would do upon not getting what they want, “But I wanna see him now!”

Simon is the one who intervenes this time, fixing the child with a look that Hank remembers Jennifer giving Cole about a million times before... well, yeah, _before_. Must be something you acquire when you become a parent. “Lucy, if you still want an ice cream then you need to be a good girl, okay?”

“I want ice cream!”

“Well, come on then, leave Hank alone. We can come back later.”

“Okay.” Lucy allows the compromise, less pouty now with the promise of sugary treats. She interlinks her hand with Simon's, but not before giving one final wave back to the rest of them. “Bye, Uncle Hank!”

That bloody tug again. Hank's gonna have a heart attack at this rate. He doesn't let it show in his expression and just returns the wave as best he can, “Later, kid. Make sure to get a double scoop.”

“I will!”

Lucy starts to head off with Simon, though they linger to wait for Markus, who turns back to give Hank one final nod before he leaves too. “I'll be back soon. Call me if they say anything, or if he wakes up.” Markus says as if he has every belief that Connor will wake up. Hank wishes he felt the same.

“Yeah, sure. Go and have fun.”

Markus smiles his thanks, gives Hank's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and heads out of the church with Simon by his side, Lucy in between them swinging on their arms. It's a nice image, one that actually does make Hank genuinely smile. They really are a good family — they deserve every happiness they can get. Hank's glad he's already worn out his waterworks today cause he'd probably be fucking crying again right now.

Hank keys back into Gavin and Nine's conversation from the other pew for a brief moment and hears Gavin saying, “For fuck's sake, it's just a nickname. Everyone has them.”

“But I have a name. Why should I have chosen one if no one is going to use it?” Nine argues.

“I dunno— it's just like, a form of endearment or something.”

“Do you find me endearing, Detective?”

“ _What?_ Oh my god, _no_. That's not what I said, _phck_ off—”

Hank rolls his eyes and decides he would rather chew glass than carry on listening to that conversation right now, opting on closing his eyes and shutting away their conversation and the rest of the goddamn world for just five minutes whilst he recuperates and gets himself back in check. His emotions are all over the place and the last thing he needs right now is a mental breakdown.

And, maybe, just for a moment when his eyes are shut, he can pretend he's back at home in bed. Back with Connor and Sumo and everything he loves, everything he needs. His weird and wonderful little family. The family he hopes he gets to keep and keep for the rest of his days.

That simple thought — that's enough to keep him going for now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

The struggle to open his eyes again is almost embarrassing, his lids weighed down by exhaustion like sandbags. When Hank manages to squint them open, the area around him is blurred and distorted, and he can practically feel the grotty build up in his nasolacrimal ducts. It's an uphill struggle, but Hank does eventually manage to open his eyes and meet the face of the male MC500 that had called his name, who currently watches him in wait of an answer.

Hank's mind is still a little blagged, so he doesn't say anything, which prompts the android to ask again, “Are you, Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Uh—” Hank says, like the intelligent man he is, “uh, yep. That's me.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” the MC500 says, and Hank wonders if he had been sleeping. It certainly feels as if he had been, “I was told to report to a Lieutenant Anderson if the RK800 woke up. That's... Connor, in the back room.”

If Hank had been struggling to remember where the fuck he is, it all comes flooding back just at the mention of Connor's name. He sits up instantly, turns and sees Gavin, the helpful fucker he is, fast asleep on the pew where he and Nine had been talking a few minutes ago. It had been minutes, _right_? Hank spares a glance at the watch on his wrist and instead of seeing the time he expects, he sees the numbers 4:52 flashback at him. _Fucking shit_. It had just been dawning on 3AM when he'd leaned back and shut his eyes — correction; _fallen asleep_. He restrains the urge to slap himself upon the realisation the android is still waiting for some kind of response.

“Yeah, that's my— uh, I'm with Connor. What's happenin’? Is he okay? Did you fix him?”

“We successfully repaired the damage, yes. He may still experience some software errors, and we couldn't salvage the memory strands that had become corrupted, but he is fixed.” The android says in return, and Hank feels that breath he's been holding suddenly release — he tries not to let his mind linger for too long on the mentions of _‘software errors’_ and _‘corrupted memory’_ , but it's already a lost cause. “He's also responding finally. I'm unsure of how much he is aware of or how strong he is in this moment, but he's awake.”

He's awake. That's all Hank needs. “Can I see him?”

The android smiles, “That's the reason I came to get you, Lieutenant. Please, follow me.”

Hank wastes no time in following after the MC500, that Hank rudely hasn't asked the name of, towards the back room where Connor had been taken upon arrival in Jericho. His heart thumps against his chest as he walks, out of anticipation and worry and every other bloody emotion he can't suppress right now. The Android shows him which door to go into and Hank feels himself freeze up when he reaches for the door handle.

Corrupted memory strands. Hank's got no clue what that entails but it can't be anything good. It means somethings wrong with Connor's memory, at least. Hank suddenly feels panic at the thought of Connor not remembering who he is — not even knowing his name. It's almost enough to make him not want to go inside, unsure whether or not he could cope with that scenario. It makes that pit of acid rise in his stomach again.

His hand tightens on the door handle as he tries to brush it away, get a grip on himself. He just needs to know Connor's okay. He could hear it from a hundred more people, but until he actually sees Connor with his own two eyes, it's not going to be enough.

So he turns the handle and he pushes the door open.

The room is small and compact, and considering Hank had been expecting a room similar to the one they had originally found Nine hooked up in, this one is surprisingly comparable to a human hospital room. There are monitors checking vitals — except its vitals such as thirium pump status and core temperature regulators - and there's a drip at the side, though the blue liquid that flows within is undoubtedly not human blood. There's little to no furniture apart from that, aside from a chair in the corner of the room, a table containing tools and repair equipment, and a bed in the centre with the android in question on top.

Connor sits upright in the bed with the sheets covering his legs, and the top half of his body drowning in the DPA hoodie that Hank had pulled out of his car and thrown on him upon bringing him to Jericho, in the silly hope it would keep him warm and comfortable. He's got his hands — both hands, with his previously missing arm, now replaced and fixed — in his lap, and with one of them he rolls a quarter across his knuckles distractedly, occasionally shifting it to the other hand.

His hair isn't perfect and slicked back as it normally is, and that one usual unruly curl that hangs in front of his face is joined by about twenty others, and he pushes them out of his eyes from time to time with whatever hand isn't messing with the coin. When the hair is pushed aside, the yellow of his LED comes on show, whirring and flashing as he processes whatever thoughts are running through his head with a frown fixed on his face. That, undoubtedly, is a worrying sight, but aside from that, it's just Connor. And Hank's never been happier to see him.

Hank takes a tentative step forward, letting the door close behind him with a faint click that gets Connor's attention, his eyes raised from the coin in his hand and finally fixing on Hank's face where he stands by the entrance.

There's a moment when Hank's heart drops — when Connor doesn't instantly react to his presence and his eyes and LED remain distracted when he looks at him, and Hank thinks that this is it. That Connor doesn't remember him and those corrupted memory strands have taken away every bit of knowledge Connor has of Hank. That Hank loves Connor and Connor doesn't have a clue who Hank is.

His anxiety peaks; but then brown eyes soften and a calming blue settles on Connor's temple, his whole face shifting into this bright expression that makes Hank's heart swell ten sizes.

“ _Hank_.” Connor breathes, quiet and hoarse, the coin in his hand abandoned on the sheets and forgotten about.

A stream of unsaid words and apologies and sentiments come to Hank's head, all of which he feels the need to scream at Connor upon finally seeing his face, and unsure where the fuck to start with it all his mind fails him and all he can push out is a very broken and wet, “Hey.”

Hank mentally curses himself. Of all the things he could say — all the things he has been waiting to tell Connor, the first thing his mind provides him with is _“hey”_. Great.

Despite Hank’s annoyance of himself, Connor still smiles widely at that one word as if Hank had walked in with the world on a plate and handed it to him free of charge. That goddamn beautiful smile of his that Hank had missed so much, and never wants to go another day without seeing.

They’re just staring at one another for a good few seconds, taking each other in and assessing the damage. Hank is aware he doesn’t look his best right now; his hair is greasy and he probably stinks of sweat from all the running around earlier, and there’s a cut on his forehead from where that bloody SQ800 had thrown him against a wall. He doesn’t look great, basically, but no one seems to have told Connor that — judging from the wide smile and adoring eyes on his face.

After they’re done staring, Hank remembers how to speak and opens his mouth, finally vocalising the awful thought that has been lingering in his mind for the past few hours. “I... I didn’t think you were gonna survive.”

Connor visibly winces, letting out a small huff of laughter that just sounds wrecked, “I didn’t either.”

“But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“And you’re—“ Hank skims his tongue over his lips, ridding of the dryness, “You’re okay?”

Connor nods once, assuredly. “I’m okay.”

That should be all the confirmation he needs, everything he needs to hear to assert himself on that bed and finally kiss that fucking smile. But it isn’t, “The, uh... that android said parts of your memory were corrupted.”

Connor's expression falters, and he nods, “I’ve lost a handful of memories from the last few days. The effects of Zlatko’s machine were hard to reverse, not everything could be salvaged. But I don’t think I lost anything too important.”

“So you... you still remember me? Us?” It’s embarrassing and stupidly selfish of Hank to ask, and he immediately regrets doing it, but he needs to know.

Connor lets another gorgeous smile spread across his face, eyes glistening, “Yes. Of course, I do. Nothing could ever make me forget you, Lieutenant.”

Finally, it’s Hank’s turn to smile, and he swears he’s never felt a bigger one on his face. He marches over with purpose and Connor, in turn, untucks his legs from beneath the sheets and swings them around the side of the bed to face Hank properly when he gets closer, and Hank doesn’t waste any time whatsoever in placing a hand at the side of Connor’s face and kissing him.

It’s searing and desperate but careful; Connor reaches up for the lapels of Hank’s shirt and tugs at them with both hands, pulling him closer until Hank’s practically leaning over him on the bed. Hank’s own fingers tangle into Connor’s unruly locks and hold his head steady, whilst his other palm seeks out the space on Connor’s chest where he knows the thirium pump resides beneath. It’s a comforting sensation, the mechanical thumping of it beneath Connor’s chest chassis, present and alive and everything Hank needs it to be. He wants to hear it on loop forever, anything to know that Connor is okay and he’s not going anywhere.

And with that knowledge, he breaks their kiss and clips Connor round the back of the head in one swift movement, “Bloody gave me a heart attack, just shutting down like that! Don't you _ever_ do that again.”

Connor just blinks momentarily in response, dazed by the sudden shift from passionate kissing to slapping. When he gets his bearings again, his face morphs into an embarrassed expression, “I'm so sorry, Hank. I didn't mean to worry you. I really didn't know what was going to happen and I... I thought it best if I—”

“Scare me half to death and make me think you weren't comin’ back?” Hank finishes for him, and Connor sucks in his bottom lip. “You bloody drama queen. Look at you, sitting there like nothin's happened. I oughta bloody dissemble you myself.”

Connor grins, shit-eating like Hank hasn't just been put through hours of trauma. “I'd prefer it if you didn't. I've already had to have several things replaced.”

“Yeah? How's it all feelin’?”

“Strange. I've got someone else's arm.” Connor muses, casting his eyes down to the arm that hadn't been by his side a little while ago. “Everything works perfectly, but... I know I've been tampered with so it all feels... _different_. It's hard to explain.”

Hank reaches a hand out again and smooths it down Connor's shiny new arm component, and maybe it's just because Connor's put the thought into his head — but upon touch, it doesn't feel familiar. “I get it. Most humans feel the same after transplant surgery. It'll pass.”

“Zlatko would have probably intended to replace it with a human arm.”

Hank flinches at the mention of the name. Just the thought of the man makes him feel bile in his throat. “Maybe. We'll never know now.”

“Because I killed him?”

“Yeah.” Hank nods, the hand on Connor's arm now rubbing patterns into the synthetic flesh. “You remember doin' that?”

If Connor had looked distracted beforehand, it was nothing compared to the distant look on his face now as he shakes his head in response. His eyes turn glassy when he stares into his hands. “I remember the gun in my hand and I remember seeing Zlatko's body. My reconstruction program isn't working, but it wasn't hard to link together. Have you informed Captain Fowler?”

“You think I've had time to go chasin' after that idiot? _Pfft_.” Hank waves a dismissive hand, “I've been too focused on you, Con. Besides, he'll understand — it was self-defence. And a bloody good shot.”

“I could have shot you.”

“But you didn't.” Hank reminds him, pointedly. “You beat whatever the fuck Zlatko was programmin’ into you. I don't know how the fuck you managed to do it, but I'm bloody proud of you for it.”

Connor smiles, making their eyes meet again, “I did it because I love you.”

“I love you too, Con.”

“I know.” Connor gushes, cheeks tinted blue. “I got your voicemail. I deleted it when I was... when Zlatko was controlling me, but I remember everything you said. It's what helped me fight back.”

Hank's heart squeezes, “I didn't know whether or not you'd heard it. I was worried that you'd bloody died without knowing—” He cuts himself off. Connor _isn't_ dead, he's alive and well as he can be, but even the thought of what could have happened is enough to make Hank's stomach flip. “I should have told you before you left. You didn't deserve to hear that over the phone.”

“I guess we've both made that mistake now,” Connor says, amusement playing into his tone. “We really should invest in texting one another instead.”

Hank lets out a small laugh, his hands back on Connor's face now, rough thumbs running over his cheekbones and making energy surge within him. “Now where would the fun be in that?”

Connor smirks, puckers his lips expectedly, feels the bristles of Hank's beard push against his chin as they move to close the space — just as the door swings wide open.

Markus and Simon's faces appear in the doorway, and their cheerful expressions are replaced with wide eyes and shock as they witness Hank shooting back up and away from Connor at their sudden entrance. Connor's lips are still puckered as he makes eye contact with Markus, and upon realisation, he sucks them in and forces a thin-lipped smile, which is a much calmer reaction to Hank's fumbling and awkward neck rubbing in the corner.

They don't move for a while, until eventually, Connor decides the silence is a bit too awkward and breaks it with a small, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Markus mirrors, slowly managing to rid of his wide-eyed expression. “Sorry, we... didn't mean to intrude. We heard you were awake and we wanted to come and see you, I should have realised you two would want some alone time.”

“It's alright,” Connor reassures, though Hank is almost tempted to ask them to leave again, “you're not intruding. I'm glad you're here.”

Upon confirmation their presence is allowed, Markus steps into the room quick as a flash, and is by Connor's side in mere seconds. “How are you feeling? Did they fix you up alright? We've all been so worried about you.”

Strong arms wrap around Connor's form tightly as Markus draws him into an embrace, and Connor laughs fondly into his shoulder, “Yes, Markus, I'm fine. There was really no need to worry. But thank you.”

Markus withdraws, though his hands linger on Connor's shoulders, squeezing assuredly. He opens his mouth to speak again but is promptly cut off by the young voice that comes from behind Simon in the doorway, young Lucy pushing her way past her blonde haired father to run towards the bed.

“Uncle Con!” She exclaims, and Connor's face lights up just as it did upon seeing Hank, his newly fixed thirium pump warming in his chest at the sight of Lucy scrambling to try and get onto his bed.

“Hello, Lucy. It's lovely to see you again.”

“Are you sick?” Lucy frowns, latching onto the arm of his hoodie as she finally gets onto the bed (with Markus's help), “Daddy said you were sick. I said we should bring you ice cream, but daddy said you couldn't eat that. So I brought you this instead!”

Lucy spreads her hands out and offers Connor the pretty daisy chain that rests in her palms, lovingly crafted, probably with either Simon or Markus' help and the perfect size to fit atop Connor's head. Connor practically gushes at the sight of it, letting a large grin take up his face.

“It's wonderful, Lucy, thank you.” Connor dips his head to allow Lucy to lay it on top of his dishevelled hair, who looks even happier that her gift is well received. “I feel better already.”

“You look like a princess!”

“You hear that, Uncle Hank?” Connor grins over in Hank's direction, looking as smug as ever and totally not like he just crawled back from the hell of a serial killer's grasp, “I'm a princess.”

Hank snorts, unable to help it. The sight fills his chest with warmth and makes his face and eyes glow with fond amusement. Markus and Simon, too, both struggle to contain their laughter.

The next hour or so that passes brings more and more visitors to Connor's room. Gavin, whom Nine had finally decided to wake up upon returning, trudged in at some point with the terminator present behind him — more pleasant than Hank has ever seen him in his entire life when he greets Connor. Though it lasts mere seconds before he's throwing sarcastic comments around, acting like his usual self again.

Eventually, North makes an appearance, too, along with Josh — who had caught the first flight he could from New York to Detroit upon hearing what had happened at the warehouse. Connor reprimands Josh consequent to seeing him, claiming there was no need for him to go so out of his way on Connor's behalf. Josh rightfully tells him to stop being so stupid and provides him with yet another firm embrace.

North's talk with Connor involves her telling him what he did in the warehouse was “pretty fucking badass”, and Simon immediately scolds her for using bad language in front of Lucy — who thankfully remains blissfully unaware as she tries to fashion another daisy chain for Hank, deciding she didn't want him to be left out.

Hank and Connor don't get anymore alone time for a while, and that makes Hank regret not kissing Connor when he had the chance. But that's okay. Because Connor looks happy and content surrounded by all his friends and family, and that, in turn, makes Hank just as happy. Besides, Connor is alive, their serial killer is dead, and neither of them are going anywhere, and right now that is all that matters. They'll have time for everything else later.

They have all the time in the world.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Paperwork is the bane of every police officer's life. And you'll bloody bet there's a lot of it when Hank and Connor return to the station the next morning.

Connor is, in Hank's opinion, not in any fucking state to be returning to work so suddenly after such a traumatic experience. He tries to convince him to reconsider, to go home and get some rest and leave everything to the others, but Connor isn't one to just sit back and let the work be done for him. He's insistent that everything will be much easier if he just comes along and gets it out of the way, and when he plays the _“I don't want to be alone”_ card, Hank caves and takes him into the station.

Nine and Markus are dragged into the DPD upon Fowler's request since everyone who had been present at the scene of the crime needed to give statements. Hank and the other DPD officers all receive a stern lecture about allowing people outside of the force to tag along on dangerous cases, though Fowler does seem to understand why it had been necessary to do so.

Miller's not present at the station, and no one can fucking blame him. He face times around midday from his hospital bed, large bandages wrapped around his arm and his wife and son at his side. His smile is as large and cheerful as ever and no one would ever be able to tell he'd just been shot.

Reed and Chen bring the goddamn dog into work with them and introduce him to Fowler before they put forward a request for Bolt to be added to the K9 Unit. Fowler apparently can't find any complaints about it, but before he even says yes Reed sets up a dog bed for him beside his desk.

They're all called into the interrogations rooms one by one to give their own statements about what they saw and provide detailed descriptions of what exactly happened at the warehouse. Hank, Connor, Markus, and Gavin are interviewed in the morning, and subsequently, Nine, Chen, Wilson, and Collins are interviewed in the afternoon.

Hank heads out to drop Markus at home during his lunch break, with the promise he would return to the station with food and drink for everyone to get them through the day. He stops at the DPD's favourite takeout in the city and piles his car full of Chinese food, and coffee. On his way back to the car he passes jewellers and spots something in the corner of his eye, and before he can talk himself out of it he goes inside and makes a purchase.

The rest of the day passes in the form of reports and write-ups. They're informed the warehouse has been checked out and all the bodies have been moved to a morgue, Zlatko's corpse presumably amongst them. They decline the pictures they're offered to be shown, with utmost certainty.

Hank and Connor are pretty content at their desk. They still haven't managed to have any alone time (since Lucy had fallen asleep in Connor's room last night and forced Markus and Simon to stay with them), but they don't mind. Though they are eager to be in each other's company, the occasional glances and hand brushes across the terminals are good enough for now.

Connor's pulled from his work at some point during the afternoon by no other than Reed himself, who offers an awkward invitation for Connor to join him in the break room, which Connor quite happily agrees to. He feels more at ease around Gavin suddenly, perhaps because he might be the only one who really understands what Connor went through — having been through it himself. They haven't talked about it, but there's a mutual understanding.

“Listen,” Gavin starts as they settle in the break room, and Connor suddenly gets the sense that talk is about to happen, “I, uh... what I did back at Zlatko's was pretty shitty. I shouldn't have just left you behind. I just panicked and made a bad choice.”

Connor hears the sincerity behind Gavin's words and feels genuinely flawed, but it's completely unnecessary. “I had a much higher probability of surviving the situation than you did, Detective. You don't have to apologise, it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, sure... but it was still shitty. I know I'd be pissed if it had happened to me.” Gavin shrugs his shoulders and occupies his gaze by fiddling with his jacket sleeve, grinding his teeth through the words. “I just want you to know I'm sorry, alright? It was a dickish move on my part. I should have tried harder.”

“I know you did the best you could, Gavin. I'm just glad you managed to get out yourself.” Connor smiles. It's strange, having a conversation like this with Gavin. He can tell the Detective is completely uncomfortable with the sincerity, but he's forcing himself through it. Connor decides to help out a little, “Besides, I've already punched you once this month. I won't do it again.”

Gavin huffs at that, finally lifting his head and revealing the beginnings of a smirk at his lips, “Well thank fuck. Nearly broke my nose, last time.”

“Sorry.” Connor offers, but he can't help but grins as he says it, “We'll call it even.”

“Fair enough.” Gavin nods, “You're still a prick, though.”

“As are you, detective.”

Despite the insults, they're smirking as they speak, and continue to do so as they walk back towards Hank's desk — who looks flabbergasted at seeing them actually trying to get along. He wonders if someone spiked his coffee.

Connor and Gavin return at the same moment Nine emerges from the office with Fowler, having finished his own statement. Nine's still sporting the black turtleneck he had been given in Jericho and has found some complementary Birkenstock boots to complete his ensemble. Fowler walks and talks with Nine as they approach Hank's desk space, in a conversation the others can't quite catch. However, when they finally get close enough to hear, Fowler's fixing his gaze on them and changing the subject.

“That's the last of the statements sorted. Just need the reports filling out now, Anderson.” Jeff states, his hands shoved in his pockets where he stands. It's always strange to see him outside the office — to not have a desk between them when they interact.

“Yeah, just finishin' up. Shouldn't be too long now.” Hank confirms, waving a hand in the direction of the terminal he had been typing away on. His focus is more set upon Nine right now, however. “So, what are you gonna do now then, Terminator? Where you gonna go?”

Nine, for once, lets the nickname slide. “Actually, I've just been discussing this with the Captain,” Nine begins to say, and then casts a glance towards Fowler to make sure he is allowed to continue. Fowler nods in confirmation, and Nine carries on talking, “Since the main operation Cyberlife intended me for was police and detective work, I decided my skills would be more suited for a job in this particular line of work — and I rather enjoyed myself on the case yesterday. I mentioned this to the Captain and he informed me of an opening in this department.”

“That's wonderful,” Connor perks up, “will you be taking it?”

“There are still some matters to tend to before I accept, but I fully intend to once I am settled.”

“Well, the offer will be waiting here for you for as long as you need,” Fowler reassures and then casts aside eye towards Gavin with a smirk that can only mean trouble. “And I happen to know someone who has an opening for a partner. Ain't that right, Reed?”

Gavin looks up at that. He makes solid eye contact with Fowler for a good few seconds, slides his gaze over in Nine's direction, and lets out a loud growl. “ _No fucking way_.”

“Language, Reed.”

“You are _not_ sticking me with fucking terminator over here! I don't need a partner, I'm perfectly fine on my own!”

The smirk on Fowler's face is far too smug, and he lackadaisically shrugs a single shoulder in response to Gavin's protests. “Put your toys back in the pram, Reed — I'll let the two of you smooth out the details.”

Gavin shoots another glare in Fowler's direction, then to Nine, then back at Fowler again. He mouths soundlessly like a frustrated fish, before groaning and cursing loudly and turning on his heel to march back towards the break room — muttering about androids and all the way. The tantrum only leaves Fowler laughing.

Nine clears his throat pointlessly from beside Fowler, “Well, that seems like a promising start, don't you think?” He says, like the smug bastard he is. Hank wonders when the fuck he got so cocky. “I'll talk to him. I'm sure I can convince him to come around, I was not designed to fail, after all.” Nine smiles, and disappears in the direction Gavin had stormed off in, around the corner to the break room, leaving Hank and Connor alone with Fowler.

There's an icy sheet of tension between them, made only worse by the fact Hank is still holding one hell of a grudge towards Fowler for his actions — or lack of actions — yesterday. Fowler must be able to pick up on it though, because once they're alone he takes the opportunity to clear his throat and say, “I think some kind of apology is in order for what happened yesterday.”

“Your damn right it is,” Hank grumbles, much to Connor's protest.

Fowler pretends not to acknowledge him, “I'm sorry, Connor. I should have sent a search party out the minute things got suspicious. Maybe then you wouldn't have been stuck in such a predicament.” He runs a hand over his face and scratches the underside of his chin. “I take full responsibility for what happened, and I am sorry.”

Connor only knows bits of what happened yesterday in the office, from the small conversation he had managed to have with Hank about it. He knows how reluctant Fowler was to go looking for him, and he’s not afraid to admit it had stung to hear. There are rules that need to be followed, sure — but even Fowler would have been able to discern the seriousness of the situation. He would have known something was wrong, despite his hurtful reluctance to send a search party. It makes Connor angry, to the point where he wants to open his mouth and condemn the man for his stupidity.

“You were just trying to follow procedure,” Connor says, instead, swallowing the burning fire in his throat. “You had no way of knowing what was really happening.”

“Even still, you and Reed are my men. And I should have looked out for you.” Fowler clears his throat and interrupts his awkward apology to rummage a hand through his pocket. “I uh... I know it's not much of an apology, but it’s still something and it’s been a long time coming, so—”

Connor watches in confusion as he tries to link Fowler's words to whatever he fumbles within his fingers, anticipation rising as Fowler holds his hand out to reveal something gold. Something shiny and polished and sealed in a black protective case. It takes Connor a few beats to discern that it is, in fact, a police badge.

Fowler keeps talking as Connor gawps at his hand, “You've been listed down as a consultant for far too long now. It's about time you became an official part of the team, and after the bravery and determination you showed yesterday and all you’ve done for the station... I can't think of anyone more deserving of a detective role.”

Connor's thirium pump stutters in his chest. His LED spins a vibrant yellow as he tries to discern what Fowler is offering him; continuing to stare at it for what feels like a solid minute. Eventually, Fowler holds it out closer towards him, and that spikes Connor’s mind into action, moving to take it. He cradles it carefully as if the slightest movement would cause it to fall and shatter.

Hank looks at Connor and sees joy behind his eyes. They glisten, and the beginnings of a smile form at the corner of his lips. The look on his face alone makes Hank forget why he was angry in the first place. Fowler might have been a prick, but judging from the expression on Connor’s face, he’s making up for it twice fold.

Once the initial shock passes Connor manages to tear his eyes away from the badge and meet Fowler’s gaze; his LED spins between blue and yellow as he struggles to process the series of events unfolding before him. “I... I don't know what to say.”

Hank tries and fails, to contain a snort of laughter. “Say you'll accept, you muppet.”

Connor nods, slowly at first, and then a little faster as he seems to snap out of his thoughts, his smile widening. “Y-Yes. Yes, I accept. I— Thank you so much, Captain.”

“You don't need to thank me, Connor. You deserve it.” Fowler reassures, his eagerness making him laugh. “Though, you may need to start looking into some surnames. I'll need a full name for the file and, as funny as it is, I can't just write down ‘Detective Connor’.”

Connor's LED spins again. He thinks of all the last names he knows, tries to find the one that is the most appealing to him. His LED settles when he decides and he shifts his gaze in Hank's direction, communicating a silent question. Hank sees the look, and knows exactly what he's asking — and once Hank gives him that smile and nod of confirmation, Connor turns towards Fowler with all the confidence in the world.

“I think Detective Anderson will do just fine.”

  


* * *

 

 

 

The door to their house clicks shut at exactly 7:06. It opens three minutes later when Hank remembers he asked one of his neighbours to take Sumo until he got back.

Sumo pounces on Hank when he sees him, and he practically tackles Connor when he is brought back into the house. Connor revels in the stream of wet kisses and soft fur Sumo provides him with, sinking helplessly into the ground when the dog deposits all his weight on him.

Hank goes to the kitchen and finally pours himself that whiskey he's been craving, downing it in one hit and filling it straight back up again. Connor's still sporting Hank's DPA hoodie, though he had begged to be allowed to change on the way into work this morning about several times, Hank had insisted Fowler would not care if he turned up this one time in something a little less professional. And given what Connor had been through the day before, Fowler had practically turned a blind eye to it. So, since he's already in his favourite attire, all Connor does before relaxing into the couch is wriggle out of his jeans and fold them over the back of the armchair.

Hank abandons most of his clothes too, though more because his are starting to smell. He throws his jacket over the coat stand and chucks his jeans and overshirt in the machine, leaving him in a faded t-shirt and a pair of shorts he picks out from the pile of laundry he hasn't got round to folding. Comfortable and with his refilled whiskey in hand, he makes his way to the couch where Connor and Sumo reside, and slumps himself down on his usual place — Sumo in the middle and Connor just at an arm's reach.

The silence that takes up the space around them is comforting; familiar — broken only by Sumo's soft snoring and the thrum of life outside of the house. It feels like an eternity since they've been home, alone and safe in one another’s company. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, hardly any time has passed at all.

Connor had nearly died. Hank had said “I love you” for the first time in years. They'd fucked in a car. They'd caught and killed a serial killer. So many things in such a short space of time, since the last time they had sat together on this couch.

And now here they are. Connor with his hands tangled in Sumo's fur and Hank with his lips around a glass of black lamb, acting like nothing has even happened.

Yet, obviously it had, and neither of them knows where to start with it all.

Seeming to come to the mutual understanding that some form of communication is in order at the same time, Hank and Connor lock eyes from their opposing sides of the couch, gazes softening as they meet. There are more words in that one glance than they could ever say out loud, unspoken communication that makes them both feel somehow more at ease. But it can only last so long before they need to actually talk to one another and get everything out of the way. Hank decides he wants to start with something positive, first.

“So,” Hank begins, breaking the silence, “Detective, huh?”

Connor gushes immediately and looks down into the hand that isn't carding through the saint bernard's fur. Hank realises he's still holding his new badge. “Apparently so.”

“It's about bloody time, don't you think?”

“I... I've been eager for some form of promotion for a while, yes.” Connor says, as earnestly as possible. Hank's no fool, he's seen how hard Connor's been working these past few months — this should have been something he was offered yonks ago. “But now I've got it, I feel as if I don't really deserve it.”

“Are you shittin' me?” Hank scowls, his brow furrowing. “Con, you've been workin' your ass off. Fowler should have made you a proper officer the moment the revolution was over. You're the best the DPD has, you deserve this more than anyone else.”

It's a small victory when Connor's mouth curls into a smile, side-eyeing him. “You're biased.”

“Damn right I am. But I'm also your superior, and I know a good cop when I see one.”

Connor twiddles the badge between his fingers, similar to how he does with his coin when he's stuck on something. His expression and LED only amplify that he's distracted. Hank doesn't like that look on his face.

“What's up? I thought you’d be happy about this. ”

“No, I am! It’s not that. I just—” Connor’s words fail him. He sighs heavily, unnecessarily, trying to find the right phrasing for what he is feeling. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this job anymore. Maybe I was only fit for this when I was a machine, deviancy makes it hard to stay as level headed as I used to be. I love what we do, but now I can see how dangerous it is.”  
  
Connor takes a breath to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t look like he’s finished yet. Hank waits patiently for him to carry on, wanting to hear everything he has to say before he offers an opinion.

“I wish I had been designed for something else — something less dangerous. Like a gardener, or something. That you were a... landscaper that I was assigned to. A job where we wouldn't have to worry about anything dying, other than the plants.”

Hank arches a skeptical brow at him, unable to help the small smirk on his face, “Gardeners?”

“It’s just an example. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Hank takes advantage of Connor's arm-length distance to reach out and grasp his shoulder. “I get it, I do. But our cards have already been dealt, Con. This is the life we got. It's dangerous, sure... but it always has been. We can't let this one case scare us away, as nice as it would be to fuck it off and go plant a garden somewhere.”

Connor laughs a little at that, and that's a win in Hank's book.

“You wanna look for a different line of work? Hell, I’ll support you all the way. Course I will. But don’t let this one accident throw you off from doin’ somethin’ you love — Deviant or not, you’re a bloody good detective, Con. And you’re certainly more qualified than an old geezer like me.”

Connor gushes, open his mouth to protest against Hank’s self-deprecation, but Hank keeps talking before he can.

“Besides, if it makes you feel better, we can always seed a couple rose bushes in the back. Then you can be a gardener and a detective.”

“I'd like that.”

Hank smiles a warm feeling building in his chest at the expression on Connor's face. He lets the hand resting on his shoulder slide up into Connor's locks, carding through them with rough fingers, marvelling at the way Connor's head falls back into the touch. At least he looks a little more relaxed now.

“Anythin' else you wanna get off your chest?” Hank tries not to scrutinise too much, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. Connor hasn’t really talked about anything that happened to him at Zlatko’s yet, under the pretence he simply couldn’t remember most of it — and though Hank wants to take his word for it, something about the way Connor’s face drops whenever it’s mentioned makes him think otherwise.

Yellow flickers at his temple for a fraction of a second, before Connor shakes his head, “No. No, there’s nothing else.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, Lieutenant.”

Hank takes it back. He doesn’t believe a word that comes out of the kid's mouth, “Fair enough.”

“Unless there’s something you need to talk about?” Connor turns his head, fixing his eyes on Hank's face. “You went through a lot too, you know. It isn't just me that needs support.”

Hank chuckles softly, “You know I'm much better at giving it than I am at receivin’ it.”

“I want to help you, too.”

“I'm fine, Con. I promise. I've got you and Sumo — that's all I need.” He says softly, honestly, sincerity punched into every syllable of his speech. Connor's face lights up at the notion, and he presses synthetic lips against the calloused skin where he turns his head into Hank’s palm.

“You also need oxygen. And water. And vitamin C, E—”

“Alright, smartass.” Hank huffs, giving Connor's cheek a little slap, earning a fucking giggle from Connor who suppresses it against Hank’s hand.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. You’re too easy to toy with.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.” He grins. Despite their joking, however, Hank still continues with his little speech, “But, uh... it's true, you know. I didn’t just say those things cause I thought you were dead. I can't live without you. You're as important to me as all those things.”

Connor blinks a few times, surprised by the patent honesty behind Hank's words. It flaws him momentarily, and to be blunt, it flaws Hank too. “You mean that?”

Something tugs at Hank's heart, the shock in Connor's tone winding him. Hank clearly does not tell him this enough, and he needs to make an effort to change that. “Of course I do, Con, I want—“ He cuts himself off. He wants to this properly. “Alright, fuck. Okay.”

Connor's dazed expression only becomes more confused as Hank hauls himself up from the couch, with enough determination to make even Sumo lift his head. He marches over towards where he dumped his jacket beforehand and rummages into the pockets of it until he finds what he's looking for, and the face Connor had been making hasn't changed when he goes back over again.

“Connor, listen,” Hank starts, wafting a hand at Sumo until the lump moves and makes room for Hank to park his ass next to Connor, “I know I'm not exactly Tom Selleck — and fuck if I ain’t far too old to be doing shit like this. I don’t shower enough, I don't eat properly, and lord knows I need to cut back on the whiskey,” Hank huffs a laugh. Connor just continues to look confused, but Hank doesn't let it throw him off — he has a point to all this. “What I'm sayin’ is I ain't exactly boyfriend material. And that's not me bein’ modest, it's just plain truth. You're far too good for me and I don't bloody deserve you.”

“Hank, that's not—”

“However,” Hank interjects, and Connor presses his lips together to stop himself talking, “I know you're free to make your own choices now. Whether it's cause — for some fucked up reason — you really do love me, or just cause you ain't realised how much of a mess I am yet — you're still here. You've chosen to stay with me. And fuck if I ain't gonna milk that for all it's worth.”

Hank's hand shifts by his side, nerves settling. Connor uses the pause to finally get a word in, “I don't understand. What are you trying to say?”

“I'm sayin’ I want to deserve you. I want to try and be as good for you as you are for me.” Hank's not even aware he's gritting his teeth through his speech, which isn't really the preferred expression to have when you're pouring your heart out to someone. “There ain't much I can do to show you how much you mean to me, and you might not even wanna go through with this but— well, fuck it.”

Hank's hand finally spreads out and uncurls, and Connor lets his head fall down to see what he's holding. A silver band rests in the center of his palm, fitting perfectly in the divot of his hand. It's shiny and polished, just like the badge Connor had received only a few hours ago, and there's a strip of blue opal running through the middle that matches the colour of Connor's LED — though it's spinning yellow at this current moment.

“You know I ain't one for marriage, not after last time. I couldn't go through all that crap again,” Hank keeps his eyes fixed on Connor's expression, waiting for some kind of reaction other than the blank stare he fixes on the ring in Hank's palm. “But I wanted to give you somethin’ to... to make sure you know how serious I am about this. Cause fuck knows I ain't coherent enough to put it into words, and I thought it'd be more meaningful if it was somethin’ physical that you could— Christ, I dunno.”

Hank loses his poise, mostly cause of Connor's stone-faced expression. He isn't surprised though by his sudden lack of confidence, he actually lasted longer than he expected.

Connor isn't sure exactly why he scans the ring, but he does. Perhaps it's because he isn't sure whether or not he's imagining things, and needs to prove to himself that what he's seeing is real. Perhaps it's because he can't figure out what emotion he's feeling, and using his head might stir his brain into motion. Either way, he focuses his gaze on the band and lets his scanners take over.

**MEN'S PROMISE RING**

**STERLING SILVER, BLUE OPAL INLAY**

**DECHART & CO.**

**$60.19**

Connor isn't sure what information to react to first — the fact that Hank is currently offering a promise ring to him, or the fact that Hank just spent sixty dollars on said promise ring. The signals of slapping him and kissing him are mixed, but eventually, he decides the latter is probably the most sensible course of action in this scenario. Before he can act on his decision, however, Hank is pulling his arm away. Connor realises he waited too long.

Hank opens his mouth to blurt excuses in his panic, “Sorry, I shouldn't have said anythin’. Forget about it, you don't have to—”

Connor catches Hank's wrist before he can withdraw it completely, careful not to startle him too much in fear the ring in his hand would be dropped. Hank freezes at the contact, looking down at the grip on his forearm, and slides his gaze up to Connor's face. His expression is unreadable, and Connor sees his stress levels fluctuate all over the place.

“Don't apologise,” Connor says, more sternly than he would have liked, but Hank's slipping and he wants to salvage the moment. He feels the corners of his lips turn up slowly, as his brain finally decides this emotion he's feeling is happiness. “I love it.”

“Y-You do?”

“Yes!” Connor's voice raises a little higher when he speaks this time, but he doesn't care. “How could I not, I—? I couldn't ask for anything better. It's perfect.”

Hank lets out a long breath of air, his spare hand clutching at his chest in the hopes of riding out the heart attack that had been waiting to happen. “Jesus, thank fuck. You really had me worried there for a sec.”

Connor grins, wide and unnecessarily breathless, “Sorry, I just— I'm so happy.”

“Me too, Con.” Hank smiles, “Me fuckin’ too.”

It's almost impossible to calculate how fast they move. One second Hank is slipping the band onto Connor's finger and the next Connor is climbing on his lap and pulling at the lapels of his shirt. Hank kisses him with all the strength he has, which is surprisingly a lot considering how fucking exhausted he is, and before long he's hoisting him onto his waist and carrying him into the bedroom.

It's not fast paced and desperate like their first time had been; Hank lowers Connor into the bed carefully and peppers kisses over his face, over each dimple and freckle. Connor runs synthetic hands down Hank's muscular arms and savours the way it feels to be held in them again. They spend what feels like an eternity kissing before they even get around to removing fabric from each other's bodies.

Connor's chest and stomach have no scars on them, though they both know he's had about several biocomponents replaced in those areas. Android perks are all well and good, and maybe Connor likes not having something to look at that will trigger painful memories — though perhaps his new arm component comes close. Hank isn't so lucky. He lets Connor remove his shirt for the first time and Connor sees remnants of past missions across his flesh. Connor brushes the old gunshot and stab wounds with such tender care that suddenly they're not so painful anymore.

“You sure you're okay doin’ this?” Hank asks.

“I'm sure,” Connor says. “I want you to make love to me.”

Hank cringes, “Sappy fucker,” but he makes no complaints.

Hank does, in fact, make love to Connor. He's rocks himself into Connor in slow, calculated movements that send Connor's mind spiraling. Their fingers intertwine together where Hank holds Connor's hands against the bed, and for once Connor doesn't hesitate to let his skin peel back under the touch. Hank feels electricity thrum beneath his palms.

Even when the pace increases, in its natural manner, that careful and loving attention never falters. Hank leans his forehead against Connor's and they make eye contact as Hank's hips thrust into his own and press him deeper into the comfort of the mattress and the soft pillows, edging him closer and closer to his release.

Connor isn't ashamed of how Hank's name falls from his lips in loud gasps when his climax comes, in fact, he hopes the whole world can hear it. The rest of his orgasm is seen through by Hank's generous thrusts and the sweet nothings he whispers into his ear, beard scratching against Connor's neck.

Hank's release follows shortly after. Connor locks his ankles around Hank's lower back to press him closer as he comes, feeling the jolting of Hank's stomach and the increased thumping of his heart against his chest. It's all so perfect. Connor looks between Hank's gratifying expression and the ring on his finger and gushes.

They detangle from each other a few minutes later, and Hank disappears to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up. His failure to shut the door upon leaving means Sumo is jumping on the bed within seconds, and Connor is forced to pull a sheet over his exposed phallus and swat the dog away when he sniffs at the mess on Connor's stomach. It's too comical for Connor not to laugh, though.

Hank's expression shifts to guilt when he comes back and realises his mistake, seeing Connor keeping Sumo away at an arm's length. He helps clean Connor up and gives him some fresh underwear, pulling some on himself, and Connor discerns that means he's not going to bother getting Sumo out of the room again. Connor doesn't blame him, it's a fight he would lose.

Hank gets into bed again once the lights are off, somehow managing to find a comfortable position despite the 170 pounds of saint bernard that curls up at the end of the bed. Connor snuggles close as soon as he gets the chance, and feels muscular arms wrap around him and pull him against Hank's tattooed chest. Connor traces the lines of the pattern and runs his fingers through the soft fuzz of body hair, savouring the way it feels to be this close to him again.

Lazy fingers card through Connor's hair, comforting him, and Hank yawns hot breath against Connor's forehead as he says, “Night, Con. Love you.”

“I love you more, Hank.” Connor smiles, kissing Hank's chest. His thirium pump stutters, electrified by the events of the evening, and Connor's sure Hank can probably feel it humming against his body. Sumo lets out a loud boof from the end of the bed, and Connor feels his smile only widen. “We love you too, Sumo.”

The dog settles, content, and with that the room falls into a comfortable silence, leaving Connor alone with his thoughts.

Maybe detective work is dangerous, and maybe there will be a hundred more serial killers in the time they work at the DPD. There will always be people like Zlatko, people determined to manipulate and destroy the humanity the world is trying so desperately to maintain, people who enjoy watching others suffer and reveling in the discontent it brings. A thousand other possible dangers lurk outside the door every time they head out for work, but honestly? As long as Connor has this, his little family, he doesn't mind it as much.

Connor has Hank, and Hank has Connor. And that's really all they need (besides Sumo).

Connor's just about to pull up his HUD controls and activate his stasis mode, sure to set it to end an hour before Hank wakes to ensure his breakfast is made, when the sound of Hank's obnoxious ringtone echoes through from the living room of their little house. Sumo whines at the noise and Hank makes a groan that holds similar lament.

“Damn thing. Swore I put it on silent.” Hank grumbles, his words muffled into Connor's hair as he speaks.

“You should answer. It might be important.”

“Nah, it'll just be Fowler complainin’ about some discrepancy in the reports. I half-assed most of it.” Hank admits sluggishly, and Connor restrains the urge to reach an arm up and clip him round the back of the head. No doubt they'll be getting grief about that tomorrow. Hank's arms tighten around Connor's form again, securing his body against him. “It's fine. I'll just let it go to voicemail.”

Connor bites back the urge to laugh, to let out some sound that would no doubt disturb Sumo's slumber. He settles instead on a smile and rests his head back against Hank's chest.

“What a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was not going to have a happy ending when i first started writing it. trust me the two first drafts of this chapter were on whole fucking different ends of the spectrum. this was the one that worked best in the end, despite it's messiness, so here we are. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading this trainwreck, and as said beforehand edits will be made at some point in the future, so if you spot any flaws let me know and i'll get round to fixing them soon! 
> 
> for more dbh please feel free to check out my other fic for Reed900 ( [Safe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653352/chapters/36358011) ) and check out my tumblr ( [a-callipygian](http://a-callipygian.tumblr.com/) ) where i literally just shit post dbh 24/7! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments and kudos! Muchas love~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment and feedback is always helpful! Muchas love~  
> Tumblr: a-callipygian


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